


Kerri Chewgra Ji

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [12]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tholatin and Qui-Gon Jinn have an uncomfortable shared history.  Padawan Raallandirr finds it all interesting, infuriating, and baffling.</p><p>Also, there are Chiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kerri Chewgra Ji

**Author's Note:**

> Beta beta beta: writestufflee, merryamelie, & lauranna

Republic Date 5201: 1/22nd

Tholatin Orbit

 

Raallandirr of Coruscant and Kashyyyk, Padawan to Qui-Gon Jinn, had recently discovered that there was one peril to being a Jedi that no one had ever mentioned:  Space travel.  They were on the fifteenth and final day of their journey to Tholatin.  The stale air provided by the recyclers was making her so nauseous that she couldn’t bear the thought of food.  Rillian wanted to breathe real air, and see growing things _this instant,_ or she was going to scream and go be a feral Wook.

“Easy, Padawan,” her Master said, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing.  “We’ll be landing shortly.”

She nodded, trying to be reassured, but her patience was at an end.  She had never been on a spaceflight longer than six days before this, and she did not like it.  Rillian was, it seemed, a student of the Living Force, after all.  An itchy, impatient student— _I want off this ship Off Off OFF—_

The Force swirled about her, and a gentle wave of calm came through the training bond she shared with Master Qui-Gon.  _Breathe, Rillian.  Breathe and relax._

Rillian obeyed; it was so much easier with help.  Fresh air was so very, very close and yet still minutes away.  [I bet you never have problems like this,] she grumbled.  Her Master had spent much of the journey meditating, or resting, or scowling at his datapad.

It wasn’t that Rillian had been ignored.  They had sparred often, with Master Qui-Gon employing Master Obi-Wan’s loaned blade in order to drill Rillian in techniques of the Jar’Kai that she did not yet know.  He had tutored her on many subjects, and there had been shared meditations and conversations aplenty, but Rillian was still left chafing at the sharp confines of their transport.

Qui-Gon was chuckling.  “Rillian, why do you think I spent so much time in meditation?”

Her eyes widened.  [Then you—]

“Like extended spaceflight on small crafts about as much as you do,” Master Qui-Gon told her, and when she looked up he was smiling.  “But I have had many opportunities to learn to cope.  You will, as well.”

That made her feel a little better.  Rillian searched about for a distraction, and decided that their arrival was as appropriate a subject as any.  [What should we expect when we land, Master?]

Master Qui-Gon’s smile faded, and he looked thoughtful.  “Tholatin does not receive many visitors,” he said, and Rillian restrained a snicker of amusement.  The system was so remote it seemed a miracle it was known to the Republic at all.

 “There will be no chance of our landing being ignored.  In fact, when our pilot announces my name, I have no doubt we will be greeted by a full delegation.”

[To be welcoming, and not shoot at us, right?] she asked.  Her Master had told her about his previous time on Tholatin, including its ending, and the injuries he had sustained.  She was not about to let any such thing happen again.

“Will they shoot at us?  No, not likely.  Will they be welcoming?”  Master Qui-Gon frowned.  “That remains to be seen.”

Rillian growled under her breath.  Worry about their potential danger distracted Rillian from her longing for clean air, so much so that when the ship settled and the boarding platform lowered, the first blast of fresh air was less blessed relief and more a soothing wind upon her heart.   

She followed her Master down onto the surface of Tholatin, sniffing and letting her nose tell her things.  There was mechanical oil and tangy metal, reminiscent of spaceport things, but it wasn’t a strong smell at all.  As Master had said, the port didn’t see much use.  There was chalky white dirt on the ground and dust in the air, stirred up by the ship’s repulsors.  The dust made the light refract, much like Master Obi-Wan’s sand designs he put together with the Force.

There was a crowd of people waiting before them, bringing in a new rush of odors: strange herbs and cloth of foreign components; unwashed bodies and perfumed ones; the milk-scent of youth; the close-creeping staleness of age.  Gathered to each side of their landed transport were children and adults, gawking as if they had never seen a ship before. 

Everyone, from the youngest gaping child to cane-bearing elder, was full human.  Rillian hadn’t expected that, even though it must have been part of the histories and briefings she’d read.  It just seemed _odd_ that a planet so remote would be stocked with nothing but Core folk.

The delegation was easy to pick out.  There was a rich sheen to their clothing that the gawkers didn’t share.  Three men stepped forward, dressed in long robes of office.  Tall, brimless hats sat upon their heads, and what hair they had was shot with liberal amounts of gray.  Rillian didn’t know if that meant anything or not; Master Qui-Gon showed edges of gray, but he was still young.

Her Master bowed to those assembled, and Rillian copied him.  She wished for her robe, since she felt less awkward performing a bow in it, but Master Qui-Gon had told her she would have no need of it.  She felt out of place in just her bandolier, but at least it was easier to get to her lightsabers when she wasn’t fighting with sleeves.

“Master Jinn,” the man in the center spoke, and a hush fell over the crowd.  Rillian glanced around, startled by the sudden, intense quiet.

“Prelate Sonun Tai,” Master Qui-Gon replied, inclining his head in a brief nod.

“You remember me?”  Tai’s eyes widened in surprise.  “I did not think you would.”

“I remember quite a number of those who stand here with you today,” Master Qui-Gon said, and looked at the man who stood to Tai’s right.  The man, who had pale eyes and white hair mixed with brown, lifted his chin and stared right back.

Rillian looked at them both and felt her fur try to rise.  What in the Force was _that_ about?

“For the sake of expediency, I will take your word for it,” Tai said, forcing a smile and recapturing her Master’s attention.  “The three of us are leading negotiations in effort to finally attain membership in your Republic.  I am guessing by your presence that you are here to resume proceedings, left at a halt by Master Licia’s departure?”

[Departure?] Rillian blurted.  Everyone turned their eyes upon her, their expressions fearful. 

Master Qui-Gon ignored the reaction.  “Prelate Tai, Master Licia was never recalled.  She is still on Tholatin.”

There was a rumble of sound that went through those gathered, as her Master’s words were repeated in harsh, disbelieving whispers.  Prelate Tai had gone pale.  “Master Jinn, are you certain?”

Master Qui-Gon nodded.  “Quite certain.  I am here because her communications to the Senate and the Jedi Council ceased nineteen days ago.  Given the…difficulties…that were faced during Tholatin’s last petition attempt, it was decided that an investigation into her lack of communication was necessary, to make certain that everything was proceeding as it should be.”

Tai’s expression hardened.  “If this is true—”

“It’s ridiculous,” another of the delegation said, not one of the three.  This was a woman, with sharp green eyes and a coif of piled white hair.  “The Jedi act upon their own whims, as always.”

“Lady Tha Nak, I assure you, Masters of the Jedi Order are accustomed to more responsibilities than others,” Master Qui-Gon said in a cool voice.  “Master Licia would not abandon her duty, no matter her personal feelings.”

The words didn’t mean much to Rillian, but Tha Nak puffed up like an angry brillow fish.  “How _dare_ you—”

“Enough!” the pale-eyed man barked.  “Lady Nak, you were warned that this is a diplomatic detail, not a social function.  Keep a civil tongue in your head before the Republic ambassadors!”

Lady Nak subsided, with a muttered comment that Rillian was almost certain meant, “He started it.” 

The Prelate sighed.  “You must be properly welcomed, then, Ambassador, and your servants, also.”

“Our ship provided a service and does not belong to me; it will be departing shortly,” her Master said.  “And this is Raallandirr the Wookiee, my companion.”

Raallandirr the Wookiee?  Not Raallandirr the _Padawan?_   Rillian gave her Master a disbelieving look, trying not to feel hurt. 

 _Rillian,_ he sent without looking at her.  It was nothing but her name, but she got the hint.

 _I trust you,_ she replied, even if she was still baffled.

Prelate Tai was looking at Rillian as if she was going to bite him.  He was not the only one.  “Does your—ah—companion require special accommodations?”

“Not at all,” Master Qui-Gon said, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.  “She will stay with me.  You need not concern yourself.”

Perhaps that was what the Prelate needed to hear, as he seemed to relax.  “Good, good.  Follow along then, Master Jinn, and Rallander,” Tai said.

[It’s Raallandirr,] Rillian corrected him, smiling.  It was like dealing with the little ones in the crèche all over again.  No one could say her name properly there, either.  With Lady Nak present, some of the behavior was even the same!

Prelate Tai turned as gray as his hair.  “Have I given offense?” he squeaked at Master Qui-Gon.

Master Qui-Gon shook his head, a too-serious expression on his face.  Oh—they were game-playing.  Too bad Rillian had no idea what the game was.  “Not at all.  She was merely telling you the correct pronunciation of her name.”

The man with the brown-white hair and pale eyes smiled, and Rillian got the feeling he was laughing at Tai.  “Then I will be certain to say it correctly.  Raallandirr, yes?”

Rillian nodded.

“See, Prelate?  All things can be learned, if you but try,” Pale-Eyes said, and turned to follow the rest of the delegation.

Her Master was staring at Pale-Eyes again.  [Master?] she said, giving him a verbal nudge.

“Yes, right,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Rillian was surprised and grateful when he reached out and took her hand.

Most of the crowd dispersed, returning to their homes.  Given the fields that lay in every direction, Rillian guessed them to be local farmers. 

[Master, are you sure I should keep speaking to them in Basic?] Rillian asked, the moment the extra attention was gone.  Rillian was used to speaking in Shyriiwook all the time, because she’d been raised in the Temple, surrounded by beings who understood it.  The rest of the galaxy was not so well-educated, she was finding.  Shyriiwook and Basic sounded the same to the untrained ear.  Speaking in Basic felt like a waste of time.

Master Qui-Gon only smiled.  “You never know when the universe will surprise you and reward your efforts,” he said, so Rillian sighed and resigned herself to awkwardness for the foreseeable future.

It took several low-power speeders, as well as four-legged beasts pulling floating carts, to bring them all to Tholatin’s capital of Lakat-sti.

Lakat-sti was nestled at the base of cliffs, with desert beyond those high borders.  On the plain before the cliff dwellings was the spread of a vast stone city, surrounded by streets made of the same chalk-white dust as the port.  The single-level dwellings here were painted white, and seemed to glow as they absorbed and reflected sunlight.  The humans they passed all wore hoods attached to half-cloaks or full-cloaks, acting as protection against that reflected bright light.

Then they crossed a broad river full of pale pink water, and were in the city proper.  It was tall where the structures of the plain had been short—every building seemed to have tried to reach the stars.  There was color here where none had been present outside the river border.

[It’s very pretty,] Rillian said, gazing up at the tall stone turrets, each one painted a different bright, cheerful color.  When paint hadn’t been employed, flowers had, and most turret windows had flower boxes at the base, filled with purple plants that had blue, white, or green flowers.

Rillian realized that she hadn’t seen green plants _yet._  [Is everything on Tholatin so…purple?]

“Tholatin’s sun shines in a different part of the spectrum of light.  When the plants photosynthesize light, it is purple instead of the green we’re used to.  Even the imports adjust quickly.  The locals have lived here long enough to have adjusted, as well,” Master Qui-Gon explained in a soft voice, both of them well aware that the driver of their speeder was listening intently to every word spoken—even if he couldn’t understand half of it.

[Oh!]  Her eyes adjusted to spectrum light changes quickly, and with the excitement of getting off of the ship, she’d barely noticed.  Rillian blinked her eyes a few times to make them recognize the difference:  Tholatin’s sunlight was very bright and red-tinged.  [Everything looks weird that way,] Rillian said, and let her vision return to normal. 

“It may be handy that you can see both.  One of us should be able to, at least,” Master Qui-Gon said.  Rillian realized he had spent much of the ride shading his eyes from the intense sunlight, and felt awful for not noticing sooner.

“Not your fault,” he said, and smiled at her.

Rillian nodded, wondering why he hadn’t bothered with the hood of his own robe, and with a jolt realized several things at once.  [You didn’t wear your hood—you wouldn’t let _me_ wear a hood—because it’s a sign of poor status!] she barked, half-accusatory.  Once they had crossed the river, there had been no more cloaks, only hats or bare heads.

His smile widened.  “Very good observation.  There is one to follow it.”

Rillian growled.  [The colors.  The city has colors and everyone else doesn’t.  Why?]

“That would be one of the largest stumbling blocks of the previous negotiation.  Tholatin has a caste system, something that is not allowed in the Republic.”

[Slaves?] she rumbled, giving their driver a narrow-eyed look when he paid more attention to them than to the roadway.

“Not technically, no,” Master Qui-Gon said, but he didn’t seem pleased.  “A class system.  While there are civilizations in the Republic that employ class systems, they are set up in such a way that no one, regardless of class, is denied their basic rights as citizens of the Republic.”

[Tholatin’s caste system does not allow for this?]

He shook his head.  “During my last visit, there were many who did not wish for the class restrictions to end.  It was one of the reasons that the treaty ultimately failed.  In their latest petition, Tholatin claimed that the class restrictions were gone, but Master Licia found otherwise…as have we.  Unless those rights are granted, or the caste system ends, Tholatin cannot join the Republic.”

[Do you think that’s why she’s missing?]

Master Qui-Gon gave Rillian a concerned look, but did not answer.

The main residence hall for the Prelate and his Council was a large building carved right into the cliff face.  Like the rest of Lakat-Sti, it had turrets, but instead of flower boxes, each window had a flag hanging below it.  Every flag was different, with the largest hanging from the top window of the fat central tower.

“The Prelate’s flag of office,” her Master explained.  “Each flag denotes a different office, with changes in color and design stating what house the officer is from.”

Rillian tilted her head.  Instead of flags, now all she saw were well-marked targets.  [Assassin-bait,] she said.

Master Qui-Gon nodded.  Considering who her Master had bonded with, he probably agreed with Rillian.

When everyone had disembarked, Prelate Tai clapped his hands loud enough for the sound to ring through the stone courtyard.  “The news we have received, and the guests who have brought it, change our plans for the day.  The next hour shall be one of rest and preparation; at sixth hour we shall convene in the Great Hall.  Do your duty to your Houses, and to each other, and all will be well.”

“Ah,” Rillian’s Master breathed, the word almost inaudible.  “Tradition.”

It was not Pale-Eyes or Tai who escorted them to a guest residence in the most slender tower, but the man who had stood to Tai’s left.  “Am I remembered to you as well, Master Jinn?” the man asked, his green eyes dancing with repressed humor.  He had more hair—all of it gray—but the man reminded Rillian much of Master Micah.

Her Master smiled.  “I do indeed, Kalin Fel,” he said, and held out his hand.

Kalin Fel shook Master Qui-Gon’s hand with a relieved smile on his face.  “I’m glad.  Our parting before was not so gracious, and when Master T’ra Saa came, I never had the chance to bid you well.”

“Do it now, then,” Master Qui-Gon advised.  “For we do not yet know what we will find.”

Kalin Fel nodded, his cheerful face taking on a serious cast.  “Friend of my father, nurturer of my brother, champion of my House, I bid you well.  May no blood be spilled upon these lands.”

“May it be so, friend of the Jedi, champion of our cause,” Master Qui-Gon said in reply, his expression grave.

Kalin Fel grinned.  “Ah, you remembered.  Prelate Tai is going to be in for it.  I think the man is half-convinced that you’re here to slaughter us all out of revenge, especially bringing a Wookiee with you.”

[You know what I am?] Rillian asked, perking up.  Considering the fearful stares she had gotten before, Rillian had wondered if these people had ever seen another sentient species at all. 

“I cannot understand you,” Kalin Fel said, lowering his head to show his regret.  “But I know of your kind, and I know what the braid you bear means.  You will not see fear upon my face when you look at me, Padawan Raallandirr, though I cannot say the same for others.”

“Has it been so bad, then?” Master Qui-Gon asked, as they continued their journey up another tower staircase.  Rillian huffed out an annoyed breath and wondered if the Tholates knew what a lift was.

Kalin Fel sighed.  “My friend, you have a planet that wishes to join the stars, and half of our own Council cannot be arsed to actually _leave_ this planet to see what the galaxy will show them.  I have done two tours of the region, and visited Alderaan.  I see what awaits us, and I _want_ that.  I want this backwards planet to find its blasted future!”

Master Qui-Gon was smiling.  “I should have never taught you to swear.”

Kalin Fel laughed.  “You were a fantastic influence.”

Rillian decided she liked Kalin Fel.  It was clear that Master Qui-Gon did, and she trusted her Master’s opinion of others.

“Do not concern yourself with my language, for I will behave during all official functions, Master Jinn.  This room is yours,” Kalin Fel said, and opened the door onto a bright, airy suite.  “It should suit you and young Raallandirr.  You can ring the bell if you need something else, and will be answered promptly.  Now I must go and prepare for tonight.  An escort will be sent to bring you to the Great Hall.”

“I can probably find it on my own, Kalin,” Master Qui-Gon said, while Rillian stared at the door, because it had a _real door knob_ in it.

Some of Kalin Fel’s good humor departed.  “It is no longer in the place you knew.  It had to be rebuilt, once hostilities finally ended after your departure years ago.”

Her Master nodded.  “Thank you, Kalin.  We’ll see you in an hour’s time.”

“Master Jinn,” Kalin said, and shut the door.

[Why didn’t you—] Rillian began, only to stop short when her Master held up a hand.

_It is not safe to speak here.  They may not understand you, but I would not put it past them to find a translator._

Rillian glanced around the room, taking in several chairs and three doors—all with doorknobs—that must lead into private rooms.  _Should we bother to search for recording devices, or just speak like this?_

Her Master pointed up at the central light fixture.  _One there.  Sound only_.  _I doubt we’ll find video-feed devices.  Tholatins put a lot of stock into visual privacy, at least._

Rillian nodded and sniffed the room, searching for more mechanical tints in the air.  What she got instead was a whiff of a familiar scent profile, one that she’d encountered before.  _They gave us Master Licia’s room!_

Qui-Gon gave her a searching look.  _Did they?_

_I’ve met Master Licia, in the crèche.  It was several years ago, but I remember her.  She always smelled like herself and something else, a spice resin._

_Patchil,_ her Master said, and then closed his eyes.  Rillian smiled as she felt him reach out into the Force, enjoying the peaceful caress of her Master’s presence.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.  _Patchil is not native to Tholatin.  I cannot sense or smell Master Licia, as you can, but patchil is unmistakable.  You’re right.  She’s been here._

Rillian began a thorough exploration of the room.  _Do you think they put us here on purpose?_

Master Qui-Gon had opened one of the closed doors, disappearing inside.  Rillian opened her own door, still chuckling over the round metal knobs.  Inside she found a bedroom; it was the one with the open window, and she smiled as a breeze ruffled the fur on her face.  The bed looked too flat, but if the sheets were strong enough she might be able to rig up a hammock, since there were support posts on either side of the room.

[Do we have a flag to hang?] Rillian asked.  [Is it expected that we put up our own target?]

“If they follow protocol, we’ll be gifted with one this evening,” Master Qui-Gon said, joining her and gazing at the open window.  “I believe our placement is meant to be a test.”

[A test?]

Her Master turned around and addressed the main room, where the audio bug was.  “It is ill-mannered to give away the room of one whose welcome has not yet been rescinded!”

Rillian clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling out loud.  _They must remember you very fondly._

 _Like hell they do,_ Master Qui-Gon replied, eyes glinting.  _But they do seem to have forgotten that I can play this game better than they ever will._

Rillian grinned up at him.  Whenever Master Qui-Gon acted in such a manner, he embodied the Temple legends about himself, becoming the tall, durasteel-eyed warrior-diplomat, and every inch the Jedi Master.

He turned and caught the look on her face.  “What?”

She walked forward and hugged him, filled with a delight she didn’t quite know how to explain.  [You are my _kerri chewgra ji_.  I could have been granted no better teacher.]

She could sense him puzzling through the new word combination.  “Wise tree?”

[Shyriiwook is not the best language for describing height,] she huffed, and was rewarded by soft laughter.  It was just as well he hadn’t pulled all of the meaning from her words.  For some names, gradual realization was best, her uncles always said.

 _As to your earlier curiosity,_ Master Qui-Gon began, and motioned for her to finish exploring their rooms in his company.  _Were this venture a singularly diplomatic one, I would use your full title and insist upon Tholatin recognition of you, your species, and your rank in the Order.  But diplomacy is second to our real reason for this visit, and that is to uncover Master Licia’s whereabouts._

They were going to be tricky, then.  Foolish people make foolish assumptions, Master Micah always said.

 _Will we help them, though?_ Rillian asked.  _I don’t—I don’t want to lie to them.  I don’t want our words to just be a falsehood._

 _Nor do I,_ her Master admitted, stuffing his hand into a bouquet of flowers in a vase that sat next to a great big tub in the ’fresher.  He pulled out a small metal disk, a listening device stamped with an unfamiliar logo.  Master Qui-Gon made a face at the discovery and then flushed it down the toilet.  “Rude,” he said out loud, and Rillian giggled.

 _We may not be able to do both, Rillian,_ he said, closing the ’fresher door as they exited the room.

Rillian thought about the hooded faces, and squat white buildings without a hint of color, and remained unconvinced.  There was more to this mission than a missing Jedi Master.  There _had_ to be.

 _Maybe there is,_ her Master admitted, looking pensive.  He turned to face her with a newly sober visage.  _We had a slow journey, Padawan, but things here will happen very fast.  Be ready._

 _I’m ready for anything,_ Rillian swore, but that turned out to be not quite true.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon entered the Great Hall that evening with his hood purposefully up, aware of Rillian restraining a cackle with every double-take that their appearance—and the hood—received.  Qui-Gon had wrapped himself in his old diplomat’s persona, one that even Obi-Wan admitted created an imposing figure, and his current Padawan thought he was being _adorable._   If anything, Qui-Gon’s time with Raallandirr would certainly keep him balanced.

Prelate Tai looked as if he had swallowed something foul as he announced the proper greetings, once Qui-Gon had lowered his hood.  His Seconds, however, both looked to be restraining smiles.  The fact that it was _both_ of the Seconds gave him curious pause, but he returned the traditional greetings with more grace than the Prelate managed.  Qui-Gon intended no real offense, but he was granting no apologies, either.  He was in a situation with too many unknowns.  Harsher versions of the usual games might help to get answers sooner than the more conservative options he usually employed. 

Qui-Gon couldn’t sense Licia anywhere on the planet.  It was only the lack of communication from T’ra Saa or the Council that kept him from dread for the other Master.

If Licia was found and diplomacy held, then the hood might also tell him of those who would be easiest to sway for the final treaty, and those who would need a good fierce push.  Qui-Gon was damned if Tholatin was going to foul this up a second time. 

It was no surprise to see that Lady Tha Nak was scowling.  She had been one of the more vocal opponents to the Republic requirement of class equality.  Otherwise, response was about fifty-fifty, for and against, and it made Qui-Gon want to swear aloud.  Fourteen years between then and now, and attitudes were not much improved.

The flag they were given was ugly, no matter what spectrum of light you considered.  Even Rillian gave it a look of distaste.  Qui-Gon ignored both, thanking the Prelate for his fine gift of offered friendship, declaring it would hang from their window before the sun rose.

Prelate Tai held up his arms.  “First, we will dine.  Then we will talk among each other as friends.”  He turned and made his way to the head of the table.  Qui-Gon let the movement of the crowd ease him forward, making sure to keep Rillian close.  They were given seats near the Prelate but not intimately close, just shy of an insult, but not enough of one to speak in offense.

By tradition, the meal was filled with nothing more incendiary than idle gossip, fueled by decent food and stiff wine.  He didn’t frown over the fare, but did remember dinners at the Prelate’s table to be of better quality.  It was something to ask of Kalin Fel, if chance permitted.

With the third course came new wine, a white even stiffer than the beginning red.  Qui-Gon took one sip and was hard-pressed to contain his amusement.  That hadn’t taken very long at all.

He met the eyes of the Prelate’s Second, smiled at some inane comment, and deliberately drank deep.  Gods, he’d had better swill poured from Outer Rim taps.

The Second didn’t so much as blink at the display, but Qui-Gon did sense a moment’s intense pleasure from further down the table.  In his peripheral vision, Lady Nak was smiling.

Rillian was baffled.  _Master, my wine’s poisoned._

_Oh, yes.  Mine, too.  Have we talked about using the Force for detoxification yet?_

The Wookiee gave him a sidelong look.  _Talked; yes.  Learned: No!_

 _We’ll remedy that later,_ Qui-Gon promised, and raised one hand.  “My apologies, but my companion cannot bear the wine.  Perhaps water, instead?” he asked, and this time did not miss Lady Nak’s poorly disguised glower of displeasure.  Culprit identified.  Again.

 _Why are you still drinking it?_ Rillian demanded, poking at her food with her utensils in a less trusting fashion.  A closed-faced servant wearing a white hood brought the desired water.

_Perhaps they’ll think me debilitated during the talks.  Or perhaps, when they don’t see me drugged or dying, they’ll try harder._

_Is that a good idea?_ Rillian asked, trying to thank the servant.  The girl took in Rillian’s furry demeanor and scurried away.  _I thought I was being metaphorical about the target flag!_

 _Right now, we_ must _learn where the danger lies, for Master Licia’s sake._   Qui-Gon finished the glass and was given another, bearing the same toxin as the first.  Nak was stubborn, but her efforts were wasted.  He would suffer more from the wine’s acidity than the actual toxin.

 _Do you think she’s responsible?_ Rillian asked.

_Nak bears a grudge.  I once disclosed an action of hers that revealed her poor character, and it has affected her power on Tholatin ever since.  If that had not happened, it would be Lady Nak standing as Prelate, not Tai._

Rillian took a sip of water, grunted in relief, and sat the metal chalice back down.  _What did she do?_

Qui-Gon glanced back over at the Lady in question, who met his eyes and looked as if she wanted to tear him apart with her bare hands.   _She attempted to use children to barter for her life with the enemy._

 _She_ What.

 _Rillian,_ he sent in warning, when his Padawan growled low in her throat and caused her nearby seatmates to pale and lean away.  _It’s not polite to eviscerate other guests at the dinner table._

Rillian subsided, but not without another quiet growl.  _Children._

_Eat, Padawan._

_Children!_ Rillian snarled again and stabbed at her food.  _I am dining with children disguised as fully grown adults!_

Qui-Gon smiled.  _Welcome to politics._

 

*          *          *          *

 

Dinner was sitting uneasy on her stomach.  Master Qui-Gon seemed amused by the entire affair, but Rillian had never been fed poison before.  Even though she had avoided it, the thought made her insides twist.  They had been on this planet less than a full cycle, and already poison was being tossed in their direction.  What kind of a planet _was_ this?

 _Tholatin,_ her Master answered the question in a dry tone.

 _I knew that,_ Rillian grumbled, trying not to frown at anyone.  She made everyone in the Great Hall nervous.  Unless she kept a bland look on her face, men and women both tended to pale and back away.  It was silly, and made her want to shake these people and tell them that Wookiees didn’t eat sentients.

She crept back to her Master’s side, where he was speaking in a civil, if stiff, tone with one of Lady Nak’s ladies.  The conversation finished, the woman bowed low and walked off in a noisy swish of skirts. 

Rillian spotted the pale-eyed man in the crowd.  [Master, who is the Prelate’s other Second?]

Master Qui-Gon seemed to sigh.  “That is Tomas Fin, Second to the Prelate and Councilor of the Watch.  But when I knew him, he was neither of those things.”

[How do you know him, then?]

As if the question had attracted him, Councilor Fin approached.  His face was expressionless, but to Rillian he seemed to be very cautious.  “Master Jinn,” Fin said, and his voice was scratchy and rough.  Rillian peered closer; underneath the man’s beard, she could see the hint of a scar on his neck.

“Councilor Fin,” her Master answered, bowing.  “You have done well for yourself.”

“As have you,” Councilor Fin said, with a meaningful glance in Rillian’s direction.  “I realize that you have every right to refuse, but I invite you to come to my private quarters when the evening has been declared at end.  Would you join me for a drink, as my guest?”

For a moment, Rillian thought her Master was going to flat-out refuse.  There was a strange stiffness to his Force presence, a reaction that only the pale-eyed Councilor brought on.

“I promise you, there will be no poison in any beverage that _I_ offer,” the Councilor added, with a meaningful glance in Nak’s direction.

“That would be a kindness,” Master Qui-Gon replied, some of the rough edges in the Force dissipating.  “It will allow my companion some time to herself, as well.”

[It will?]

Master Qui-Gon glanced down at her.  _When the Prelate announces that we are done, it is expected that everyone find their quarters and stay there until sunrise.  It will be a good time for you to roam the halls.  Tell me where in this place you can find the scent of patchil still lingering.  We need to know where Master Licia spent her time._

 _Yes, Master,_ Rillian said, trying hard to ignore rising glee.  Something to do!  Her very first solo action as a Padawan. 

 _What about Naboo?_ Master Qui-Gon asked, amused.

 _No._   She refused to count almost getting turned into Wookiee bacon by battle droids.

 _Do_ not _get caught,_ he warned, even as they both turned their attention to the Prelate, who was announcing that the evening was at a close.  _Empty halls are expected, but this time of day is when liaisons are made, whether they be political or bed-related._

 _No, Master,_ Rillian agreed, thinking of Lady Nak’s free hand with poison.  She didn’t want to liaise, and bed-hopping was less than a blip on her radar.

The Prelate continued speaking, and she turned her attention back to hear the last of what he had to say.  “We will convene in the Round Room at noon tomorrow, after Master Jinn and his companion have visited the Garden of Souls,” he said, and turned away in obvious dismissal.  His other Second, Kalin Fel, followed behind him.

Rillian wrinkled her nose.  Round Room?  Garden of Souls?

Master Qui-Gon gave her a light nudge.  _Right.  Spying,_ she replied, and slipped out of the room while the Council members were still bidding each other goodnight.  There were advantages to being a silver and black Wookiee, after all, and it was high time she put old crèche games of hide-and-go-seek to use.

 

*          *          *          *

 

It was ridiculous, but Qui-Gon couldn’t keep his right hand from clenching as he was announced at Tomas Fin’s door by another white-hooded servant.  Fin dismissed the servant and bid Qui-Gon follow him into an inner chamber.  There were no windows, but there was a fire burning in a stone fireplace, with comfortable chairs arranged in a loose half-circle around the grate.

“Please, choose a seat,” Fin instructed, going to a cabinet and unlocking it with a key that hung from a shelf above it.  “I have an import to share with you.  I’m afraid our wine harvests are not what they used to be.”

“I noticed, even before the poison,” Qui-Gon answered, trying not to feel unnerved as he settled into the chair closest to the door.

If Fin noticed the choice, he gave no sign, and poured two small tumblers full of amber liquid.  “A trader told me that it was Corellian.  He charged me well enough for it, so I hope it warrants the price.”

One cautious sip told Qui-Gon that Fin had not erred.  “It’s the real thing, and an excellent choice.  Were my husband here, he would be quite enamored of you right now.”

Fin settled into a chair closest to the fireplace, allowing them a comfortable distance from each other.  “You have wed?”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “I have.  Are you married?”

Fin lowered his head.  “I was.”  He set his glass aside on a low table, settling his hands together on his lap.  “I have to ask, Master Jinn:  Do you have full use of your right hand?”

He studied the man before him, and detected no sense of righteousness, or pity, or anger; only a hesitance.  In answer, Qui-Gon held out his right hand, bending each finger singularly, and then making a tight fist.

Fin sighed and looked heavenward.  “Thank the gods.  I have wondered about that for long years now.”

Qui-Gon was startled enough that he almost forgot the brandy he held.  “I did not expect that.”

Fin smiled, his face crinkling into careworn lines.  A deep, abiding sadness lurked in his eyes.  “Master Jinn, when last we shared company, I never gave you any reason to think otherwise.”

Qui-Gon stared at the Councilor, whom he had last seen in a cold Tholatin cell, fourteen years ago.  As a much younger man, Tomas Fin had taken fierce delight in breaking the bones of his right hand, while shouting accusations at Qui-Gon that he’d barely comprehended.  He had never expected they would one day find themselves like this. 

“You lost them during the war,” Qui-Gon guessed, and Fin nodded in quiet agreement as he took up his brandy.

“When I was torturing a man I considered my enemy, doing what I thought was my duty to my home, performing an honor for my house…” Fin drew in a deep breath.  “While I did those things, my allies murdered my wife and son.  My family line was ended because my wife dared to speak of peace.”

Qui-Gon remembered all of the things that had brought him to Tholatin, the events that had led them both to that point, and felt bitterness well up in his throat.  “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing the words were far too late and inadequate, besides.

His host shook his head, waving off the apology.  “You may feel that it was your failed efforts that gave my fellows and I the opportunity to be such foul creatures, but it was still _our_ choice to make.  No greater fool exists than a young man who is still naïve enough to delight at war.”  

Fin drained his glass, a bitter smile forming on his face.  “I had just learned of their deaths when I met Master Licia for the first time, though then she still bore a youth’s braid.  She doled out fierce justice to those who lurked in that prison, Master Jinn, have no fear of that.  But when she came before me, and saw the new grief I bore, she did not lay a finger on me.  ‘ _You have already been handed more punishment than I could ever offer, and more than I would have demanded of you,’_ she said, and continued on to your rescue.”

Qui-Gon gave a slow nod.  Licia had once told him as much.  At the time, he had not cared. 

“When I met Master Licia again, this time as second counsel to our Prelate, I had a moment’s brief thought of finding myself glad that it wasn’t you, and then knew myself for a coward.” 

“Some coward, inviting me for a drink in your private quarters,” Qui-Gon observed, and Fin gave vent to a near-silent laugh, rubbing at his throat.

“I almost died to end the war, last time,” Fin said, with a rueful smile.  “When Master Licia arrived, bearing Tholatin’s second chance at joining the Republic, I pitched the full strength and loyalty of my house into the effort.  In doing so, I have earned enemies.  More fool they, since I have no wife and child left whose safety they can threaten.”

“Instead, they have seized Master Licia,” Qui-Gon murmured.  “A dangerous ploy.”

“Yes,” said Fin, and got up to pour them both a second glass.  “Here is a truth no one else will tell you, Master Jinn:  Every member of this Council knew already that Master Licia did not depart, that she disappeared.  We were forbidden from contacting your Council by the Prelate himself.”

 _Interesting,_ Qui-Gon thought.  It explained Tai’s earlier discomfort, and the accompanying sense of falsehood.  “Sonun Tai was one of the strongest supporters of the original petition.”

“Yes.  He was this time as well, until Master Licia vanished.”  Fin locked the cabinet but pocketed the key.  “I suspect he is being influenced.  It’s a shame; if his weakness is revealed, Tholatin will lose one of the most capable leaders we have ever had.”

“Do you know who is involved?”

Fin shook his head, returning with the brandy and settling himself before the fire once more.  “Master Jinn, I swear upon the Garden of Souls that I do not know, but woe to those who have harmed her.  I do not think Tholatin can survive being cursed by a Jedi for a second time.”

“Let us both hope it does not come to that,” Qui-Gon said, finishing the brandy quickly before standing.  “I have kept you long this evening, and should depart.  My companion may have need of me.”

“Wait, please.”  Fin did not stand, but there was no mistaking the tense set of his shoulders.  “Master Jinn, I ask for your forgiveness.  I wronged you in the most grievous of ways, and have no amends to offer save my words.”

Qui-Gon took in the man, studying lines of face and body, while Fin directed his gaze at the stone floor.  “It has long been my belief that all beings are capable of change, and often they change for the better, Tomas Fin.”

Fin looked up, a faint smile on his face.  “May there be peace between us.”

“And no blood spilled upon this ground,” Qui-Gon agreed.  “I am Qui-Gon, Councilor Fin.”

Fin inclined his head in renewed greeting.  “And I am Tomas.  You have the backing of the House of Fin _da_ Chee, Master Jedi.  Use it well.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

The Tholatin house of government was a maze capable of confusing anyone, even the rodents.  After her third wrong turn and finding herself back in the same corridor she started from, Rillian began building a map in her head.  A datapad would have been easier for mapping, but it had bright lights and noisy buttons.  Head-maps were better, and she was supposed to be learning how to do that sort of thing, anyway.  Rillian had learned to memorize basic “You are Here” layouts, but building a mental map of the government complex, while keeping track of Master Licia’s patchil trail, was going to be difficult.

 _I don’t even know what these rooms are,_ Rillian thought in frustration.  She pressed up against a dark wall when a pair of courtiers strolled past, arm-in-arm and giggling something about sheets.  She hoped her Master could acquire a map of the rodent-maze, so Rillian could put names to the rooms she had marked.

Master Licia’s scent was in three places in the slender tower, aside from the quarters Rillian and Master Qui-Gon now shared.  In the largest tower, Rillian spent a careful half-hour creeping around, confirming that the patchil was also strong near the Prelate’s rooms.

She hid behind a wall hanging when another pair of courtiers came near, and then became trapped when they decided not to seek out a private room, but to conduct their business _right next to her._   Rillian stared up into the darkness, trying to ignore some very improper noises.   

 _Doors!  You have doors that have doorknobs, please, for the love of the Force, go find one and use the doorknob, you_ smell funny _, please—_

At last, they departed.  Rillian listened to their steps fade, and then sneezed several times from the dust and the new odors in the air.  There was one last tower in the maze to deal with, and then she could go home and give her report.

Master Qui-Gon was waiting in the main room of their assigned quarters, a ’plast map spread out on the floor.  He was already dressed for slumber, his hair unbound, but he smiled when he saw her.  “Did you have a nice time?”

[If you consider listening to two indiscreet Tholates have sexual relations in the hallway as fun, then yes,] she said, and sulked when he laughed at her.  [It’s not funny!  I had to hide behind a tapestry!  It was awful!]

“I’m so very sorry,” Master Qui-Gon said, but his eyes were still bright with amusement.  “Come and look at this with me.  I, ah, borrowed it from our hosts.”

Rillian walked over and knelt down next to the large ’plast sheet, which turned out to be a map of the governing residence.  [Oh, good.  I was hoping we would have something like this.]

He handed her a red marker.  “We’re here,” he said, pointing to the slender tower.  “Circle each place you found patchil.”

She nodded and bent to her task, circling the areas of concentrated scent multiple times to point out their significance.  When she was done, her teacher had brought her cold water to drink.

[Thank you,] she said, grateful.  Traipsing around in the shadows was thirsty work.

Master Qui-Gon was frowning at the map.  “Interesting.”

[What?  Is there a pattern?]

“Not in the traditional sense,” he said, which was confusing and of no help whatsoever.  He looked up and smiled at her.  “Go and rest, Rillian.  I will label our borrowed map, and in the morning you can put names and places to your search.”

“Good night, then, Master,” Rillian said, and hesitated only a moment before throwing herself forward for a goodnight hug.

The next morning, Rillian awoke when her Master’s hand touched her shoulder.  It was already past dawn.  She grumbled under her breath and went to the ’fresher to make herself presentable.  The trip out had thoroughly confounded her biorhythms.  If they were on Kaazcint, or Coruscant, Rillian would have been the first to awaken, and been no trouble to her Master.

Breakfast was waiting when Rillian returned to the main room.  She accepted a glass of water from Qui-Gon, and then looked down at the table.  [Did they serve me raw meat?] she asked in disbelief.

Master Qui-Gon nodded, a suspicious glint in his eyes.  “Perhaps you reminded them during last night’s meal that you are a carnivorous creature.”

[I’m a _civilized_ carnivorous creature!] Rillian protested.  [I don’t want to eat this!]  She sniffed at the rest of the meal, suspicious.  [Did they poison this, too?]

“No, not this morning.  Lady Nak may try again, but only in public.  If you or I were to fall ill after eating a meal that she had also partaken of, it would be harder for blame to fall on her.”

Politics was making her head hurt.  [Do Coruscant politicians do this, too?]

Something about the question made her Master frown.  “No.  They have far more effective tools.”

He surrendered his (cooked) meat for Rillian’s breakfast, though in her opinion, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice.  Rillian didn’t consider herself to be particular about her food, but there was so much bitter herb inside the stuffed sausage that it made her eyes water.  Maybe it was an acquired taste—one that she hoped to never acquire.

The pilfered map was labeled, as her Master had promised.  The prelate’s office she had recognized on her own, but there was a lot of patchil concentrated around the office of Second Fin.

 _That makes sense, I suppose,_ Rillian thought, looking at the other locations.  She didn’t know those names yet, but they were all Tholatin Councilors, so Master Licia had been thorough in her diplomatic visits.

After she had finished with the map, Qui-Gon folded it up and stored it in an inner robe pocket.  “They’ll take it, otherwise,” he said, “just like they’ll replace all of the listening devices I removed last night.  Remember that for when we return.”

[Yes, Master.]

 Qui-Gon led Rillian down through the maze of the tower.  A hovercar awaited them outside, and took them back into the city.  Instead of crossing the river, they went east, following the water’s path for several kilometers.

The hovercar stopped in front of a long stone walkway.  There was a walled garden with a gate at the end of it, and beyond that gate were green lawns filled with standing stones.

[What is this place?] Rillian asked, following her Master down the path to the gate.  There was a round bin just outside the garden entrance, filled with…

Umbrellas?

Qui-Gon took two, handing one to Rillian.  She fiddled with the simple notch control and let the umbrella pop open.  It was made of a thin, fibrous material that allowed light to shine through, but was otherwise unadorned.  [Master?]

He had opened his own umbrella, and was carrying it so that it shaded his head and shoulders from the sun.  “The Tholatins believe that it is impolite to walk freely in the sunshine when you visit the Garden of Souls.”

[Oh,] she replied, not really understanding at all.

Rillian followed her Master into the Garden of Souls, her umbrella carried in the same position, feeling silly.  She glanced around at each stone, wondering at the names and dates carved on the closest stones, and suddenly it struck her.

The Garden of Souls was a cemetery.

[Oh!] Rillian said again, trying not to be completely creeped out by the realization that she was walking over buried, rotting corpses.

Master Qui-Gon smiled, as if sensing her discomfort.  “The Tholatins hold that you cannot begin to negotiate for the future without honoring those that came first.”

[But they—they bury them!] Rillian sputtered.

“There are quite a few cultures that still do so.  Not everyone considers the pyre to be the best sort of memorial.  My sister Padawan would have been given to the earth, had her body ever been recovered.”

Rillian wanted to complain about how it was a waste of land and resources and kind of morbid, but did not.  Best not to blatantly insult the dead, considering she was standing right in the midst of them.

At first, she could not relax.  Yet, as they proceeded farther into the Garden, keeping to the paths, Rillian began to notice how quiet it was, and despite the purpose of the stones, how beautiful they were.  [It’s peaceful here,] she admitted.

Qui-Gon nodded.  “It is.  The Garden of Souls was one of the few places left untouched by the war.  Despite the clan and house disagreements, no one dared to desecrate this place.  It was useful when the talks failed, years ago.  We used each Garden to ferry supplies among the allied groups.”

Rillian had been watching the local dates on the stones as they walked.  The section they were in now was full of Tholates who had all been killed in the same six-month span.  [The war dead.]

“Yes.”  Her Master halted their progress in the midst of all the casualties of Tholatin’s last war.  “There were many.”

[If they fail to join the Republic, will they go to war again, like they did last time?]

“I don’t know,” Master Qui-Gon said, and when he turned and looked down at her, his expression was grave.  “I quite honestly have no idea what’s going to happen, not even the slightest hint.  It’s not often that I am so baffled by the situation we have walked into.”

[Then we’ll figure it out.]

He smiled briefly in agreement.  “But we take steps, also.  If we become separated unexpectedly, come to this very place.  Hide and wait for me.  If I do not come and find you by the time a full day has passed, then you will need to figure out how to contact the Council to update them about the situation.”

[And if I get delayed, instead?]

“Then I’ll find you,” her Master promised.  “But, I suspect the Tholates will be much more concerned with me than you.  I will be seen as the threat to whatever it is they are trying to hide.”

Rillian nodded.  Most of the Tholates were either frightened of her, or seemed to see her as a bipedal _pet_.  [Do we have any allies among the Tholates?]

Master Qui-Gon hesitated, and Rillian only knew it because she had come to know him so well.  “Not those I would have once thought.  If you are forced to approach a Tholate for help, I suggest Tomas Fin.”

Her Master must have gotten over his differences with Fin, to be suggesting him as an ally.  [Not Kalin Fel?]

“When I spoke with Tomas, he offered me the full allegiance and support of his house.  Kalin Fel did not.”

Rillian frowned.  [But…it seemed like he was really glad to see us, that he really wants Tholatin to join the Republic.]

“Perhaps he does,” Qui-Gon allowed, but he looked worried.  “It could be an oversight, but we must be cautious.”

Rillian nodded her agreement, but she knew that her Master didn’t think it was an oversight at all.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The Round Room was very…round.  Rillian stared in consternation.  The room had been constructed as a sphere from top to bottom, with only the terraced floor keeping everyone from sliding down its walls and winding up in a pile at the bottom.  [Are they always so literal?]

Even her Master looked amused.  “I do not recall the previous Round Room having quite the same geometric dimensions.”

They were seated at a table bolted to the floor, only a few terraces up from the Prelate.  Sonun Tai had a large chair and desk at the very central point of the sphere’s bottom, and he was flanked by Tomas Fin and Kalin Fel, seated at their own slightly smaller desks.  The others of Tholatin’s ruling Council were arranged in groups, bottom to top.  Rillian glanced around and couldn’t figure out the rest of the ruling structure at _all._

 _They sort by age and importance of House, not by level of government office,_ her Master sent.

 _Oh._   Rillian looked again in light of that information, and realized that Lady Tha Nak was still very close to the bottom of the sphere, near the Prelate.  She didn’t think that was a good sign.

Then Kalin Fel called for silence.  One of the Councilors, about halfway up the sphere, stood and began what sounded like a well-practiced recitation.  “Begin this fifty-ninth session of our government and congress, led by Prelate Sonun Tai of House _da_ Ruiij, Seconds Kalin Fel of House _da_ Ere, Tomas Fin of House _da_ Chee, overseen by the Houses of _da_ Grin, _da_ Durin, _da_ Welsi, _da_ Trul…”

Rillian tried to pay attention, she really did, but as the House names droned on, she zoned out, watching the play of sunlight from the skylight at the roof of the sphere.  She came to with a jolt as the Prelate spoke.

“At last, we can once more attend to the business of confirming our petition for entry into the Republic,” Tai said.

Her Master did not stand, but when he spoke, his voice carried throughout the chamber.  “I’m afraid I must have misunderstood.  It was my belief that we were meeting today to discuss the matter of Master Licia’s disappearance.”

There had been quiet, murmured conversations going on in the chamber until that moment, and then the silence was so heavy that Rillian thought she could hear the inhalation and exhalation of breath of every person in the room.

“Despite that… _unfortunate_ situation, the negotiations must continue,” someone near Tha Nak said.

Rillian frowned.  [Without your primary ambassador?]

She had already forgotten how the Tholates reacted to her speech.  Rillian resisted the urge to sigh as her neighbors all went pale.

“What my companion says is true,” Qui-Gon continued.  “The ambassador assigned to oversee your petition is missing, and my first duty is to find her.  When that task is done, the negotiations for your petition may continue.”

“That is completely unacceptable!” someone behind Rillian shouted.  “We’ve waited weeks to finish this process.  It should continue now!”

The Round Room degenerated into shouting that, quite frankly, made Rillian’s ears hurt.  No wonder Cousin Yarua had such a reputation for fits of temper in the Senate.  If he had to put up with loud nonsense like this all of the time, she really couldn’t blame him.

“What of your companion?” Tomas Fin asked, his words falling like stones into a pond and gaining them silence once more.  “Could she not seek Master Licia?”

Her Master glanced at her, as if considering the notion.  “I don’t know.  She is very young…”

[Master…] Rillian whined, as if she couldn’t believe he would say such a thing.  [You know very well that I am capable.]

 _Of course I do,_ he sent, and gave her a very brief, warm smile, before he turned his attention back to the Second.  “It would be an acceptable solution, Councilor Fin, but I have a condition of my own.”

“Name it,” Kalin Fel said with a wide smile.  Rillian looked at him and wondered if his smile seemed false, or if she was now being paranoid.

“We must discuss Tholatin’s need to change or dissolve the caste system.”

Rillian resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears as the room erupted again.  She could hear shouts for and against, and those against were broadcasting so much _anger!_

Prelate Tai picked up a wooden hammer and slammed it against his desk until the shouts became angry mutters.  “Agreed, Ambassador Jinn.  Your companion Rallender may leave to search for Master Licia.”

[It’s _Raallandirr_ ,] she grumbled, standing and heading for the stairs that led up and out of the sphere.

 _Rillian,_ her Master spoke, but did not turn in her direction.  _When you get out of here, disappear.  Don’t let them dictate where you search, because they will most certainly try._

 _Yes, Master,_ she replied, swallowing back a sudden case of nerves.  Second solo act as a Padawan.

_Good luck, dearheart._

_You, too, Master._

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon Jinn suspected that almost everyone in Lakat-sti was doing their best to obfuscate the truth.  He _knew_ they were all lying about Licia’s disappearance, but that was no great shock.  It was the rest of it, this great big political clusterfuck, that was going to drive him to drink.

 _This is worse than Tan’al_ , he thought, recalling his and Obi-Wan’s last mission before the Yinchorri Accord.  At least the Tan underclass had been willing to rise up to regain their rights and autonomy; the Tholate undercaste didn’t seem to understand that an uprising was even possible.

The difference between Tan’al and Tholatin was that here, Qui-Gon had the Council’s blessing to start a planetary revolution, were one to be required.  It was easier to get away with that sort of thing on planets that were not yet Republic members.  Less political fallout, less bickering in the Senate over procedure.

Hours of droning speeches and shouted opinions made one thing very clear:  They were not compromising on the caste system, not at all.  Qui-Gon didn’t remember the Tholates being this adamantly disdainful of the hooded folk during his first tenure here, but there had been a war.  Wars changed people, and not always for the better.

He refused to lose his temper, but he was done with pretty language and subtlety.  “I don’t understand,” he said, giving the assembled Council a narrow-eyed look.  “You all knew the terms for Republic admission.  Why bother to petition again at all, if you were not willing to conform to the conditions for membership?”

Unsurprisingly, it was Lady Tha Nak who answered him.  “We researched your laws.  There are times when the Republic will accept a multi-class society.  There is no doubt that we should also be one of those exceptions.”

“If you researched the law, as you say, then you would also know that those are rare cases.  And,” Qui-Gon continued, before complaints could drown him out.  “And in those cases, even the so-called lower class citizens still hold the full rights of citizens of the Republic.  What you wish to insist upon does not grant all of your people those rights, and that is unacceptable.”

“Impossible,” one of the _da_ Welsi Councilors snarled.  “If we gave them a voice, they’d soon tear our society apart.  We have the balance of our civilization to keep in mind, Ambassador.”

Qui-Gon studied him.  “You seem very concerned with the fact that they might speak.  I wonder what stories they would tell?”

A woman of House _da_ Trul looked scornful.  “They are little more than animals.  They would tell you nothing useful, Ambassador.”

“I spent months among members of both classes, Lady Hru,” Qui-Gon replied, and there was nothing pleasant about the smile he offered her.  “I did not observe that to be the case.”

Hru went pale.  It was obvious she had not been of age when he was here last, and had not expected him to know differently. 

Qui-Gon shook his head.  There was ignorance, foolishness, and underhandedness aplenty on Tholatin, and it seemed to have concentrated all in this room.  “We are at an impasse, Councilors.  I do not see a point to continuing these negotiations for your petition’s approval.”  Honestly, Qui-Gon was starting to believe that Tholatin didn’t want to join the Republic at all.  If that were so, however, then what was the point of all this?

Sonun Tai slammed the wooden gavel against his desk once, the sharp noise cutting through the angry babble.  “Ambassador, I can see why you could believe that to be the case.  Nevertheless, I am not yet prepared to give up.  Will you dine with us once again this evening, you and your companion?  There is still hope of discovering the other Jedi’s whereabouts, after all.  Perhaps if both of you are working together in session with us, we could make true progress.”

Qui-Gon looked at him, careful to keep his diplomat’s mask in place.  Tai knew exactly where Licia was.  Right then, Qui-Gon was certain of it—and certain of Tai’s hopes that Rillian would find her.  Interesting.

Qui-Gon inclined his head.  “Perhaps,” he said, as if it were a grudging concession.  “It would be a pleasure to share a table with the Prelate and his Council once more.”

“Then we are adjourned,” Tai declared, and rapped the gavel three times.  “Dinner will be in an hour’s time.”

Qui-Gon went to his assigned room with the intention of meditating for most of that granted hour.  He needed to put a rein on his temper, quickly, if he was going to sit through the evening session of gossip. 

He sat down in the center of the room and closed his eyes.  Quiet stillness was not a problem, but it was a few minutes before his thoughts settled.  He took another breath and stretched out his senses.

Rillian was nearby, calm and focused on her mission.  In fact, she was meditating, much as he was.  He resisted the urge to meddle; he had to trust his Padawan, and Rillian needed to know that she had that trust.

Tai knew of Licia’s whereabouts, but had pretended innocence.  He wanted her found, and hoped that Qui-Gon’s Padawan could do what he could not.  That meant the Prelate was being influenced, and the threat must be dire.  Tai had children—grandchildren even, by now.  It would not be the first time that Tholatins had threatened children to get what they wanted.

Strangely, he didn’t believe that it was Tha Nak’s doing.  Nak wanted power, but Qui-Gon thought that she might have learned her lesson from the last time she had tried to use children as bargaining tools.  She would lose the political clout she had regained if the tactic were to become public knowledge again.  Besides, Qui-Gon suspected that Nak’s animosity stemmed mostly from a desire to gain vengeance against him.

The Force confirmed his early-morning instincts:  Kalin Fel could not be trusted.  Gods alone knew why; Qui-Gon couldn’t even begin to imagine what Kalin was up to.  House _da_ Ere had been his strongest ally during the last failed negotiation, and fierce resistance fighters during the war that followed.

Qui-Gon acknowledged those facts and then pushed it all to the side.  He had to trust in the Force, and listen to what was going on underneath.  He opened his mind, and received a bizarre series of images—

Open space, Tholatin floating like a brown and green bit of round jasper in the darkness—

Overlapping fences—

A dark garden, a wooden shed—

A young girl in white, but surprisingly hoodless, looking at Tomas Fin with a horrified expression—

Ships in a field, unfamiliar type—

Rillian bearing a burden—

Tha Nak, scornful first, then triumphant—

A hand with deep blue skin, extended—

A body, covered in an embroidered sheet reserved for Councilors of Tholatin—

Qui-Gon forced himself out of the meditation, feeling light-headed.  He was used to receiving images, yes, but they were not normally so clear, so _insistent._

 _Feel,_ he told himself.  _Stop thinking about this mess, just_ look _at it.  What do you see?_

When the realization came, it was so damned obvious that he felt foolish for not seeing it sooner. 

“There is someone else here,” he said, just before there was a knock on his door. 

A frantic Tholate Councilor, pale and looking to be in shock, gave him the news of Sonun Tai’s assassination.

 

*          *          *          *

 

When the doors closed, shutting off the rabble of the Tholatin Council, Rillian found herself standing before two robed officials.  Their ranks must have been such that they weren’t necessary for negotiations.  “We shall accompany you,” the first one said.  He had flat eyes and a jowly chin.

“We will assist you with your search,” the second one told her.  He had similarly flat eyes, but was lean and seemed…gristly.

[What are your names?] Rillian asked.

The officials looked at each other.  Then Jowly Chin asked, “Are you…hungry?”

Rillian sighed and shook her head, gesturing for them to precede her.  That, at least, was understood.  Rillian followed them down the hall to the stairs.

“You are to remain with us,” said Gristly.

“You will not talk to the servants,” said Jowly Chin.

“You will tell us if you need anything.”

Rillian nodded and grunted as they tossed back each instruction, with no intention of obeying any of it.  On the lower level, she slowed her pace, letting her escorts get farther and farther ahead, before turning and bolting down a side corridor.  She ducked into an empty room, shut the door with a quiet click, and, after a moment’s fiddling, locked it with a rotating notch in the doorknob.  Then she waited, listening to the intense quiet and the beat of her own heart.

A minute later, light and heavy footsteps, two beings, went running by the closed door.  In the air, she caught the faint whiff of Jowly Chin and Gristly’s scents.

That was her escort dealt with, at least for the moment.  Rillian turned around and took in her surroundings, thinking hard.  She was on a planet full of humans, and thus, stuck out like a Bantha trying to hide among a flock of birds.  Not even her robe would be enough of a disguise, even if she dared return to their assigned tower room to fetch it.

 _They ignore the servants,_ Rillian thought.  Not only would the large hoods help to hide her face, no one would wish for her to take it off.

She listened at the door for sound, and then extended her senses, searching for trouble.  Jowly Chin and Gristly were nowhere nearby, and must have thought she had run off. 

Rillian left the room, trusting her instincts as she found more stairs and went down.  If servants had a place in this maze, it would be towards the cliff wall, away from the target-marked windows and the people they served.

Rillian found a dimly lit room, almost mistaking it as a storage area before she noticed the distinctive white hoods hanging from pegs on the wall.  She slipped inside, searching among the clothes until she found some that would fit.  Rillian grinned to herself.  The undergarments were not acceptable, the trousers would be uncomfortable, and the heavy shirt would leave her inclined to panting, but if she had been an adult Wookiee, this plan wouldn’t work at _all._   Tholatins were short.

“You!” someone hissed.  “What are you doing here, it’s between shifts— _oh, gods_!”

Rillian turned around, startled, and stared at the hooded servant who’d managed to catch her off-guard.  [Sorry.  I’m just borrowing this,] she said, raising the white hood over her head.

“You can talk!” the servant squealed, and strode forward with a bright grin on her face.  ‘That’s amazing!  They said you were a beast-girl!”

[I am not a beast-girl,] Rillian huffed, annoyed.  [I’m a _Wookiee._ ]

“What’s a Wook-ee?”

[Well…me, for starters,] Rillian said, and then felt her jaw fall open.  [You can understand me!] she howled in delight.

“Of course, though your accent’s a bit weird.  Really rumbly,” the girl said.  Up close, she had very pale skin, violet eyes, and her hair was a bloom of color that Rillian didn’t have a name for.  “Should I not be able to?”

[Understanding a Wookiee without lessons is a rare gift.  It means your ears can interpret the harmonics in Wookiee howls to help you understand timbre and meaning,] Rillian explained, feeling chagrined.  Her Master had been right about Basic, after all.  [Anyway, I’m just borrowing this.  You won’t get in trouble, will you?]

The girl waved her off.  “No, it’s a spare.  But we could get in big trouble if we’re caught in this room.  We’re only allowed on break once a day.  I was just leaving the toilet, or we wouldn’t have met at all.  Are you like us?” she rattled on, ignoring Rillian’s rumble of dismay.  “Are you accompanying Master Jinn in servant capacity?”

[No, I—no,] Rillian answered, off-put by the very idea.  [I am his student.]

The girl hesitated.  “Am I in trouble, then?”

[What?  No!] Rillian barked.  [I’m from the Republic.  We have different rules.  As far as the Jedi are concerned, you and I are equals.]

“Wow.  That’s really possible?  The Republic would consider us equals?”  She looked so hopeful, and there was such longing in her eyes that it made Rillian’s breath catch.  Great gods.  If this was what it was like to be an empath, she didn’t envy Bant Eerin at all.

[Yes.  Well, if we can find Master Licia, and finish the treaties,] Rillian said, shoving her bewilderment aside.

The girl’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ of surprise.  “You’re looking for her.  The other Jedi?”

Rillian nodded.  [They’re all talking to my Master, and ignoring me.]

Her new friend frowned.  “Well, you won’t be ignored, not dressed like one of us.  You’ll be expected to work.  If you want to search, you’ll have to get out of the tower.”

[Master Licia’s not in the tower?] Rillian asked, feeling a bit of excitement.  Patchil was one thing, but direct confirmation was dead useful.

The servant shook her head.  “No, not here.  One of us would know, since we’re expected to be everywhere and do everything and do it perfect or…well.  You know.”

[No, I don’t?] Rillian hedged, as she was almost certain she _did_ know.

“Don’t get fed.  Don’t get medicine.  Don’t get…well, anything, really,” the girl said.

[Right,] Rillian said, growling again.  No being deserved that sort of threat always hanging over their head.  [What’s your name?]

“Xilly _da_ Hurun,” the girl answered.

[You have a _House?_ ] Rillian blurted, surprised.  [I thought just upper Tholates had Houses.]

Xilly snorted.  “That’s what they like to think.  Don’t let our Prelate or any Councilor tell you different, Wook-ee, ’cause the only difference between us and them is that they got rich from the wars, and we didn’t.”

[I’m Rillian.]

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Rillian.”  Xilly smiled.  “If you don’t mind the fact that I’m pushy and mutinous, I can help you.”

Rillian grinned.  [I don’t mind at all.]

“Good,” Xilly said.  Then her mouth twisted in a very human display of pronounced bafflement.  “What’s mutinous mean, anyways?”

The best way to escape the tower without being noticed was to work the rest of the afternoon with Xilly.  Rillian avoided Tholate notice by letting her sleeves hang loose to disguise the furry nature of her hands, and the long trousers of the servants’ garb mostly hid her feet from view.  No one really paid much attention to her, anyway, which was a relief.

When Xilly’s time was up, she and Rillian walked through the rear servants’ exit side by side.  Everyone received a grudgingly doled-out bag of food from the Tholate guards.  Xilly dug into her bag the moment they were clear, pulling out a sandwich and biting into it with a groan of appreciation.

Rillian waited until the crowd had thinned, as Tholate servants went off in different directions, before reaching into her own bag.  Breakfast had been a long time ago.  Inside she found a sandwich, like Xilly’s, a round fruit that she didn’t recognize, and what looked like the Tholate version of a ration bar.

As far as meals went, it was shockingly small.  [This is your dinner?]

Xilly nodded, swallowing a mouthful before speaking.  “Yep.  We get breakfast when we go in, and mid-shift there’s a bar to keep us going.”

[That’s _it_?]

Xilly shrugged.  “Sometimes we grow plants at home, but you have to be careful to hide them.  The upper class has full control of the food supply, and don’t want us to have our own.”

Rillian clenched her jaw (else roar and reveal her identity to anyone nearby) wondering if her Master knew the full extent of the caste subjugation.  She had read a lot about cultures with class societies, but they weren’t like this.

[You’re not lower class.  You’re _slaves,_ ] Rillian growled in anger.

“I don’t know that word,” Xilly said, pulling out the fruit and biting into it, peel and all.  “Is it bad?”

Rillian hesitated.  Telling Xilly that her place in her world was worse than she had been led to believe would not help, not right now.  They needed Master Licia and Master Qui-Gon fighting for their rights more than Rillian needed to teach vocabulary.  [It’s no worse than what you already know.]

Xilly shrugged.  “Okay.  Where do you want to start searching for your other Jedi?”

Rillian bit into her sandwich, glad that it seemed to hold non-herby meat, and the bread was fresh.  The fruit tasted like sweet, acidic candy, and made her mouth burn.

She looked at the ration bar, told her stomach to stop its greedy whinging, and hid it within her uncomfortable clothes.  It looked to be a long night, and she still wasn’t certain where to search.  There was no patchil scent to follow in Lakat-sti.  Master Licia could be anywhere.

[I need a place to sit and be still for a little while.  Can we do that, first?]

“Sure!” Xilly said, and led Rillian away from the stone buildings, towards what looked like an extended arm of the cliff wall.  There was shade, little alcoves that would look like burrow-holes when the sun was high, and a small tidal pool from the pink river. 

“This should be quiet enough.  The Uppers don’t come here, and the rest of us are supposed to go down-river to bathe or wash,” Xilly explained.

[But not you?] Rillian asked, bending down to drink from the pool when she saw Xilly do so.  The water had a very mineral taste, sweet and salty together, but was not bitter or unpleasant.

“I’m mutinous, remember?” Xilly said with a smile.  “No one really pays much attention to me, anyway, so if I’m here and not there, no one notices.”

[Don’t you have anyone to go home to?] Rillian asked.  She didn’t want to keep her friend from worried family.

“I’m the head of my house,” Xilly said.  There was a touch of bitter pride in her voice.

Rillian gave a quiet, sad howl as the meaning of that statement sank in.  [I’m sorry.]

Xilly shrugged.  “It’s okay.  What are you going to do?”

[Meditate,] Rillian answered, sitting down on the clean, bright sand next to the pool.

“Neat,” said Xilly.  “Can I watch?”

Rillian blinked.  [Er.  Well.  Sure.  There isn’t much to watch, though.]  She rested her hands on the stiff cloth of the trousers, resisting the urge to scratch.  Deep breaths.  In and out. 

“That’s it?”

Rillian chuckled.  [I need quiet, Xilly.  Just give me a few minutes.]

“Okay,” Xilly said, sounding doubtful.

Almost half an hour later, Rillian emerged from meditation.  The bright light was dimmer, the sun much lower in the sky.  [Xilly?]

“Over here,” the other girl called, emerging from one of the alcoves.  “Meditation’s boring to watch.”

[It’s all happening on the inside, not the outside,] Rillian said, which was usually the truth.  If it was Master Obi-Wan meditating, though, things could be a lot more active.

“Okay.  So did this meditation thing tell you where you need to go?” Xilly asked.

Rillian nodded.  [Sort of.  I need to see House _da_ Ere.]

Xilly looked flabbergasted.  “The Second’s House?  Why?”

She grimaced.  [I have absolutely no idea.]

“If that answer is an example of how Republic people encourage others, it’s a wonder you lot have ever done anything at all,” Xilly said with a frown.

[That’s the Force,] Rillian said, climbing to her feet and dusting sand from the trousers.  [Sometimes we just get answers.  The explanation is the part we have to find out for ourselves.]

“Right,” Xilly said, in a tone of polite bafflement.  “Well, if you want to go to House _da_ Ere, you’ll need transport, ’cause it’s not close.”

Stealing a transport was out of the question; there weren’t enough of them to go around, and the theft would be quickly noticed.  Instead, Xilly led Rillian to a small supply convoy heading in the right direction.  They hid in the back of a covered container, packed in among boxes of food and what smelled like old rugs.

[You don’t have to come with me,] Rillian said in her softest rumble.  She wasn’t great at picking out humanoid ages, but the Wookiee was starting to suspect that Xilly was younger than she was.

Xilly grinned at her, her teeth flashing in the dim light.  “No, of course I don’t.  But this is fun, and it’s for a good cause, right?”

[I hope so,] Rillian replied, and the transport lurched forward with an angry, metallic grind, taking a passage to the north.

Extended space travel turned out to have a use, after all.  Instead of chafing at the long, slow ride, Rillian merely sat, thinking on everything she had experienced on Tholatin so far.  Xilly moved restlessly for a time, and then fell asleep with her head pillowed against Rillian’s shoulder, exhausted from a day of hard labor.

Xilly sat bolt upright when the transport ground to a halt with another angry groan of abused metal.  “Where—”

Rillian shushed her.  [We have to go, before they unload this transport.]

Her senses told Rillian that no one was nearby—yet—so they slipped out of the back of the container together.  Xilly pointed, and they ran for the cover of blue-trunked trees that had sprouted up near a stone wall.

“Well, things seem to be going well, so far.  I’ve no idea how we’re going to get back, though,” Xilly said, sounding far too cheerful for someone stranded kliks from home.

[Will you get in trouble if you don’t show up for work in the morning?]

Xilly shook her head.  “I won’t be missed.  Won’t get to eat, either, but what do the Uppers care about that?”

[What if you get sick?] Rillian asked, disturbed.

“You don’t get sick.  You _do not_ get sick.”  Xilly’s cheer became utterly serious.  “There are medicines that they give us, but sometimes they don’t work, and you still have to be able to get out of bed to go ask for them.  If you’re too sick to get up…”

Rillian narrowed her eyes.  [I think House _da_ Ere is going to be feeding you tonight.  That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it?]

Xilly flashed a smile, and then followed Rillian along the wall, which glimmered in the light of the setting sun.  “What about you?  Will you get in trouble if you’re not seated to dine at the Prelate’s table tonight?”

Rillian snickered.  [Master will probably just tell them that I ran off.  I’m an uncontrollable beast-girl, remember?]

“Okay, beast-girl.  How do we get in?”

Rillian looked up.  No trees were close enough to use, and the main gate was too daring for her taste.  [I have an idea, but you have to be quiet.]

“Quiet, why— _meep_ ,” Xilly squeaked as Rillian picked her up, took three running steps, and jumped, landing with a quiet _thunk_ on the top of the wall.  Xilly squeezed Rillian in a death grip, but didn’t make another sound. 

The Wookiee glanced around and jumped down into the sprawling gardens that made up the grounds of the _da_ Ere estate.  The flowers, so contained and minimalist in Lakat-sti, were everywhere.  There were so many different, fierce blooms of fiery color that it made Rillian’s eyes hurt.

“Do all Wook-ees jump like you?” Xilly asked in a shaky voice.

[We’re tree dwellers.  Jumping comes with the territory.]  Rillian grabbed the rattled girl’s hand and took off in a jog, hoping for a hiding place.

It was Xilly who noticed the danger first, and tackled Rillian to the ground.  Rillian wound up nose-first in a white gravel flower bed, a perfect, bruising camouflage for the white servant’s clothing.  Xilly pointed; there were men walking by.  They wore neither hoods nor hats, and moved with purpose towards what looked like a gardener’s tool shed.

Rillian stared in bewilderment.  [Those aren’t Tholates.]

“Their skin is so _pretty_ ,” Xilly whispered, awed.  “They look like the flowers!”

The men had vibrant, multi-hued blue skin and shining red eyes, like Duros, but Duros did not have stark black hair, or look so very humanoid in shape. 

[I think they’re Chiss,] Rillian breathed in wonderment.

“What’s Chiss?” Xilly asked.

[Nobody really knows.]  Rillian climbed to her feet and followed the two Chiss at a distance.  [I’ve only ever met one,] she said, thinking of little foundling Nuru, in the same clan as Jeila Vin.  The five-year-old shared the same coloring as these two humanoids, but under the light of Coruscant’s sun, Nuru’s skin didn’t look anywhere near as amazing. 

[This means there are more aliens on Tholatin than myself and my Master.]

“Okay, but why?” Xilly asked in a soft voice, as they hid behind a row of ornamental plants when the Chiss stopped to unlock the shed.  There was a third Chiss standing by the door, an unfamiliar weapon cradled in his arms.  Twilight was fading fast, casting the grounds into shades of gray and strangely vibrant blue as night approached.

[That’s a good question.]  They needed a plan.  They needed confirmation that Master Licia might be imprisoned inside the shed.  Rillian huffed out a breath when the Chiss went inside, and began the tedious process of slithering out of her white clothes.

“Why in the gods’ names are you stripping naked?” Xilly hissed.

[Wookiees don’t usually wear clothes of _any_ sort,] Rillian retorted.  [And this blinding white uniform will get me noticed.  But if I go in my own fur, and sneak close, I may be able to smell if Master Licia is inside.]  It wouldn’t do to waste all of their time distracting a guard and breaking into a shed just for it to be empty.

Rillian didn’t think it would be, though.  There was bound to be _something_ of interest inside, but she had other priorities.  Master Qui-Gon could deal with the Chiss.

Xilly still looked offended.  “Well…if you _say_ so,” she said, gathering up Rillian’s discarded clothes.  “What should I do?”

[Stay here,] Rillian said, [if it remains safe to do so.  If not, find a hiding place.  I’ll find you.]  She felt a moment’s chill at repeating instructions her own Master had given Rillian just that morning.

Xilly nodded, looking very young.  “Be careful.”

Rillian crept down the row of plants, and then darted across the grass when the guard Chiss looked in the other direction.  She couldn’t hide herself in the Force, like Master Obi-Wan could, but that was of more use when facing off against other Force-users, anyway.  Creche games of Make-Small and Notice-Me-Not, however—those were very useful.

At the shed wall, she crouched down, her black-and-silver pelt blending in nicely with the deep blue shadows.  She could hear no voices, only faint scuffles of movement.

It took only one breath for her to know that Master Licia was inside.  The scent of patchil was very strong, along with unwashed human skin, female elements, dirt, sterile antiseptic, gardener’s chemicals, and a faint, unfamiliar metallic tang.  Rillian couldn’t discern whether it came from the strange weapon, or the Chiss themselves.

The door opened and closed again; she could hear two sets of feet departing.  The guard remained at the door, not even exchanging words with the other two men.

_If I do this, Master Licia’s disappearance must remain unnoticed for as long as possible._

A plan bloomed in her mind with the quickness of a syren plant.  Rillian took a deep breath, increased the intensity of her Notice-Me-Not trick, and darted around the side of the building, lightsaber hilt at the ready.  The guard only realized the danger when she was in striking range, too late, and her hilt struck him across the temple. 

Rillian caught the guard, helping him slump to the ground, and only took a new breath when his pulse was strong and steady beneath the pads of her fingers.  Bless Master Micah and Master Plo Koon, and all of their lessons on sneakiness. 

There was no lock on the shed, so Rillian opened the door, slipped inside, and shut it behind her.  Dim light came from glow panels in the ceiling, revealing Master Licia’s slumped form.  The humanoid, dark-skinned Jedi Master was in a chair with her hands bound behind her.  She was not conscious.  At that distance, the smell of some sort of bitter medicine was unmistakable, as was the odor of human waste.  They had bound her only, allowing her body to empty as instinct forced it to happen.

 _Cruel bastards,_ Rillian thought, angry at such blatant disrespect.  Then she shook her head, getting on with what must be done.  She found rope among the garden tools, and another chair.  She took both outside, and was able to use the chair to prop the guard up in a semblance of his former position, tying him into place.  It was not pretty, and anyone coming within a few meters would be able to tell immediately that something was wrong, but watchers from the main residence would see the guard still at his post.  Rillian used another length of rope to bind his weapon into his arms, furthering the illusion.  Then she went back inside, drawing a slender knife from her bandolier to saw through the plastic that imprisoned Master Licia’s hands.  The woman groaned, but did not awaken.

There was a leather band around the Master’s throat, not tight enough to choke, that Rillian suspected might be an inhibitor.  Where the Chiss or the Tholatins had gotten such a thing, Rillian had no idea, but she also dared not remove it.  She didn’t know enough about any aftereffects, or if Master Licia would make a great amount of noise.  Master Qui-Gon would have to make that decision.

Rillian lifted Master Licia into her arms, grunting at the weight.  It was only the Wookiee’s natural strength that allowed her to carry the Master at all.  The Force would help, but Rillian would need all of her concentration focused on evasion and speed. 

She left the shed, pausing to make sure the door closed, and then ran.

Xilly, Force bless her, was exactly where Rillian had left her.  “You made it!” the girl whispered, and then wrinkled her nose.  “Oh, that is not kind.”

[Let’s go,] Rillian ordered, shifting the unconscious burden in her arms.  [I am going to have to float you over the fence.  I can’t carry you both when I make the jump.]

“Float?” Xilly squeaked again.

Rillian didn’t bother to attempt returning to their original entry point.  They needed to go, and go now, and that place had been too close to the main residence, besides.  She snagged Xilly, gave the girl just a moment to become accustomed to the sensation of a Force-touch, and lifted her to the top of the wall.  Then Rillian ran forward and jumped, having to augment the leap with the Force this time to make it.

When they were safely on the ground on the other side, Rillian listened with a keen ear for a long minute, waiting to see if their escape was discovered.  When there was nothing but the sound of Tholatin insects whirring, she smiled.  [Okay.  How long will it take to walk back to Lakat-sti?]

“Oh.  Oh, gods, uhm…” Xilly bit her lip.  “Mum used to walk home for rest day from here.  It takes all night.”

Rillian nodded.  [Let’s go, then.  We’ll need to run, as much as we can.”

Xilly hesitated.  “I don’t mean to complain, but I don’t know if I have it in me to walk all night, let alone run.  Not without something to eat.”

Rillian chuffed a laugh and shifted Master Licia in her arms just enough to retrieve another bar from her bandolier.  [I rescued it from the guard.  It’s not the food I hoped to give you, but it will help.]  She still had one remaining, and suspected she would be desperate for it come morning.

“Oh, bless you,” Xilly said.  “Thank you so much, Rillian.” 

As they jogged, the Tholatin moon rose into the sky, turning vibrant blue shadow into eerie green light that highlighted the hilly landscape.  Xilly finished the ration bar, crumpling up the wrapper and storing it in her pocket.  “So, does this mean the Prelate’s Second is responsible for the Jedi’s kidnapping?  Or is it those Chiss folk?”

Rillian shook her head.  [I don’t know,] she said, and wondered how her Master was faring.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Say that again,” Qui-Gon said, staring down at the Tholate who had come to retrieve him.

“Prelate Tai has been murdered,” the Councilor said.  Qui-Gon recognized her a moment later as a member of house _da_ Welsi, possibly a daughter or granddaughter of a Councilor he had worked with years before.

“You’re certain,” he said, because it was almost impossible to believe.  Yes, there were intrigues, but he had felt _nothing_ that spoke of danger in the Prelate’s future.

 _Not again,_ Qui-Gon thought, and had to ignore a flare of useless guilt.  Too late to stop that disastrous bombing of the original Round Room.  Too late, too _blind,_ to notice this.

“Everyone is certain,” the _da_ Welsi Councilor said, wringing her hands.  “Second Fin has been arrested, and he’s locked away—”

 _What?_   “Stop!” Qui-Gon held up his hand, cutting off a panicked flow of words.  “Take me downstairs.  Tell me what’s happened as we go.  I must see the Prelate’s body.”

“Er—yes.  Yes, that will be done.  I was sent to fetch you for just such a purpose,” she said, and gathered her composure.

Tai had retired to his private office, a space near the Round Room.  No one outside of that place heard anything amiss, but Tomas Fin was seen going inside.  It was Tha Nak who walked in a few moments later, to discover Tomas Fin standing over the dead ruler’s body.

Qui-Gon listened and did not flinch at the circumstances, much as he wanted to.  This was definitely a moment where his mate’s diverse, creative vocabulary would be appropriate.

 _How much more perfectly could they have catered to my feelings about them both?_ he wondered, feeling a grim expression steal over his features.

There was a throng of Councilors and tower guards clustered in the large antechamber to both the Round Room and the Prelate’s office.  Kalin Fel stepped out of the throng to greet him.  “Thank you for fetching him so quickly, Salar,” he said to the _da_ Welsi Councilor.  Salar of House _da_ Welsi nodded and retreated. 

“I am so sorry that it has come to this,” Fel said.  To his credit, he seemed genuinely upset.  “Tomas Fin is already under guard, but there is no sign of a murder weapon.  It leaves us with certain…complications.”

“Could it be natural causes, then?” Qui-Gon asked, feeling a brief moment of hope. 

Fel shook his head.  “When you see the Prelate’s body, you will understand.  Come with me.”

The crowd parted for Kalin Fel and Qui-Gon.  Sonun Tai’s body was already draped with the cloth of state, the same funeral shroud Qui-Gon had seen in those intense images during his meditation.  “Avert your eyes,” Fel commanded those standing closest.  “Leave our beloved Prelate his dignity while the Jedi Ambassador investigates!”

The order was obeyed, but Qui-Gon suspected it had less to do with respect and more to do with a fierce desire not to see Tai’s face.  When Fel drew back the shroud, it revealed the death mask of a man who had died in extreme distress.  Tai’s mouth was locked open, both tongue and eyes bulging from his head.  The skin underneath his eyes was black, and the white bristle of his beard was soaked with red blood that was quickly drying and turning dull brown.

 _I am so sorry,_ Qui-Gon thought, quelling a sigh.  That was most certainly not a natural death.  “Any sign of an entrance wound?”

“None that medical could find.  We’re going to make sure there is a much more thorough examination, of course…”

Qui-Gon knelt next to the body, examining it with the Force as he glanced at the man’s fingernails.  They were bloodless, too soon for the lack of color to have been caused by death.  He could discern a wrongness from Tai, not of the Force—possibly a strong toxin, meant to deliver certain death.

“No, it is not natural,” Qui-Gon confirmed, unnecessarily.  “You said Fin was under guard?”

“Of course,” Kalin Fel replied.  “He will receive a trial, but it is my belief that Tomas Fin just assassinated Prelate Sonun Tai.  I will keep him under guard until evidence is procured.”

“Or until his innocence is proven?”

Fel lowered his gaze.  “Master Jinn, you and I both know what Tomas Fin is capable of.”

 _Of course we do,_ Qui-Gon thought.  “Perhaps I can help you with that.  Jedi interrogations often bring quick results.”

As acting Prelate, Kalin Fel had full authority over the governing tower, and he did not waste time arranging things.  It was not long until Qui-Gon was standing before the barred door that led to Fin’s temporary prison.  A full squad of twelve tower guards was stationed outside, assigned to watch a room that held only a single, unarmed politician.

“I’d like to speak to him alone, please,” Qui-Gon told the head of the guard.  He was almost certain he recognized the man, who had dull Not-Brown hair that was just beginning to whiten.  The hair marked him as a descendant of the earliest planetary settlers, those who had adapted the most to living under the light of Tholatin’s sun.  For someone like Rillian, Jamin Ree’s hair would be a blaze of color.

“That is _highly_ irregular,” a younger member of the guard told Qui-Gon, just shy of a disdainful sneer.

“This entire _day_ has been highly irregular,” Qui-Gon retorted, choosing to meet temper with temper.  “There is only one way out of that room.  Or do you expect him to phase through a wall?”

“How do I know you won’t be helping him escape?  We can’t find that beast of yours anywhere in the tower!”

 _Good girl,_ Qui-Gon thought, hiding a smile.

Kalin Fel rolled his eyes.  “And it’s your own damn fault for underestimating her, too.  Master Jinn is not going to help the prisoner escape, and you will accommodate his very reasonable request.”

The guard frowned so mightily his lips disappeared, and the ridge of his brow dropped almost to the bridge of his nose.  “Yes, Acting Prelate Fel.  It will be done.”

When Fel retreated, to rally his shocked fellow Councilors, Qui-Gon leaned in close to the head of the guard, who had watched the argument in stony silence.  “It was not your fault that Prelate Tai fell today, Jamin Ree.”

Ree flushed.  “I didn’t think you remembered me, Master Jinn.”

“I remember everyone,” Qui-Gon told him, in all seriousness.  Some days that fact was a curse more than a blessing, but in the political arena, it had always served him well.  “Including your brother.”

Jamin Ree sighed.  “Wasn’t your fault my brother died foolishly, Master Jinn.”  He glanced at his remaining guards, who were at least waiting for orders and not advocating Fin’s immediate, “accidental” execution.  “Are you certain my men and myself have no blame for the Prelate’s assassination?”

Qui-Gon nodded.   “I promise you, that is one of the few things I am certain of.”

The guard offered him a faint, bitter smile.  “Well, then.  Please go inside and find out what’s going on, Master Jinn.  I’d like to make sure there’s no need to arrest anyone else.”  He paused.  “I will be locking the door behind you, of course.”

“Of course.”  Qui-Gon dipped his head in acknowledgement.  Both of them knew that it would be no obstacle if Qui-Gon chose otherwise.

Fin was seated in the room’s only remaining chair.  His hands were cuffed in front of his body, not behind, and he looked unharmed.  “Master Jinn,” he said, lifting his chin and meeting Qui-Gon’s gaze with an expression that was almost glacial.  “Somehow, I should have suspected that it would come to this.”

“Perhaps I should have, as well,” Qui-Gon replied, while scanning the room.  It was another office, possibly belonging to a lesser Tholate Councilor.  It had been stripped of potential weapons and personal items, victim of a polite ransacking.  There were three listening devices hidden in the ceiling joists, one on the underside of the front of the desk, close to Fin, and two more slapped on a painting like bulging locusts.  _Not subtle._

There was plenty of paper left, and several styluses.  Qui-Gon stepped around the desk and waved one hand, catching the unlocked cuffs before they could make a sound that would be picked up by the audio feed.  He held up one finger, and when he had Fin’s attention, wrote on a blank sheet.

_Was he in distress when you entered the room?_

Fin nodded, and took up his own stylus.  _Coughing.  He had just finished a drink, local wine.  Not from Thak’s vineyards.  Quickly grew worse._

Qui-Gon frowned.  _You called for assistance?_

 _One guard.  Haven’t seen him since he agreed to get help._   Fin looked frustrated.  _Don’t think it would have done much good, even if he had come back._

 _Were you expected in the Prelate’s office?_ Qui-Gon asked.

_Yes.  Standard debriefing, a duty that myself and Fel rotate._

Fin’s schedule would be well-known, then, the way most Tholate politicians gossiped.  _Tha Nak?_

_Unexpected, but not uncommon for someone to visit Tai before dinner.  Honest surprise, on her part.  She’s gained influence under Tai.  His death could damage her power base._

Qui-Gon had surmised as much, himself.   He had to decide what his next step would be, and he suspected he didn’t have much time.  But first…   _You are well?_

Fin gave him a searching look, and then picked up his stylus again.  _I am well.  I’m surprised that you don’t think me complicit in some way._

Qui-Gon shook his head.  _I would not have thought you guilty even if we had not discussed our past differences.  I’ll be back soon._

Tomas Fin smiled and held up his hands.  Qui-Gon replaced the cuffs but did not complete the lock circuit—a quick yank would open them.  He folded the sheet of paper up, tucked it into a robe pocket, and left the room.

“What happened?  We didn’t hear a damn thing!”  It was the same young guard who had been disparaging earlier, blocking Qui-Gon’s path with a belligerent stance.

“I am a Jedi.  I do not need to speak to discern truth,” Qui-Gon replied with a too-serene smile, and tried not to enjoy it when the guard paled and retreated.

He found Jamin Ree waiting a subtle distance away from his squad, and spoke as he passed by.  “Fin is innocent.  You should help to ensure that he is protected.”

Ree nodded, but then tilted his head in the room’s direction.  “That will not be easy,” he said in a low voice.  “You may need to plan to retrieve him, Master Jinn.”

 _Sithdammit._   Qui-Gon clenched his fist and then forced himself to relax.  The next few hours were going to be difficult enough without having to worry about Fin’s safety, as well.  “I will see to it,” he said instead, and went back to the Round Room’s antechamber.

He approached the first Councilor he recognized, and asked about searching the Prelate’s office.  “Of course,” said Salar, who seemed to have recovered from her earlier shock.  “I will escort you myself.”

The moment they were free of the press of bodies and into the quiet, guarded sanctuary of a dead man’s office, Salar spoke.  “Is it true?  Did Second Fin murder the Prelate?”

Qui-Gon glanced around the room and then gave her a level look.  “I believe it is too soon to make any declarations.”

“Oh,” she said, her face falling a little bit.  Qui-Gon took another glance at her and decided she had to be a granddaughter—she was much younger than he’d first suspected.  “It’s just…we’ve heard stories that Jedi have mythical abilities.  I thought for certain that you would know already.”

“What I know, or what I believe, will be irrelevant if the evidence says otherwise,” Qui-Gon told her.  It was what he was expected to say, of course, while still giving her room for translation.

She noticed his wording.  Instead of questioning him further, she waved for Qui-Gon to continue with his search.  He nodded and went back to his count.  There had been seven listening devices in the office, hidden in corners, furniture, nooks and crannies.  All of those devices were gone, and new ones had not yet replaced them; it was only the lingering imprint in the Force that told him of their existence.

There was no sign of the wine, or any liquor of note.  “Did the Prelate drink after governing sessions?” he asked Salar.

Salar nodded.  “On occasion, but not often, given that he is expected to drink at dinner to show favor to the vineyards.”

Qui-Gon acknowledged the answer and resisted the urge to regret the order of his actions.  He could have searched the office first, but chances were high that the evidence had already been stripped from the room. 

There was only a small bloodstain on the floor to mark the Prelate’s sudden passing.  Qui-Gon knelt by it, letting his hand hover just above the marred stone.  He could sense the Prelate’s terror and shock, even the man’s sudden realization that he was about to die.  There was no hint of blame, or recognition of his foe.  Qui-Gon hadn’t really expected to discern his answer so easily; he doubted even Quinlan Vos would have been able to pull a culprit from the impressions.

When Qui-Gon stood up, he didn’t have to put much artifice into his weariness.  “I’m afraid that this has turned into a trying day.  I must return to my rooms.”

Salar inclined her head.  “I understand.  As it is, the evening’s formal dinner has been cancelled.  A meal will be delivered to your room, if you like.”

He bowed to her.  “That would be a kindness, Councilor.”

When he was safely ensconced in his rooms, Qui-Gon did nothing more than stand in place and breathe for a few minutes.  In and out.  No directed thought; just let things in his mind come and go as they wished. 

There was a visual recorder in the room now.

Qui-Gon shattered the device without moving. Then he destroyed the rest of the monitoring devices in their hiding places—at least double the amount there had been when he and Rillian arrived yesterday afternoon.

He took delivery of the meal, one free of poison but heavy in foods designed to make a Tholate sleepy and sedate.  He packed it up in cloth napkins without eating any of it, and then made short work of compressing his and his Padawan’s belongings into just one of their packs.  The other pack held their travel rations and the napkin-wrapped dinner.  After a moment’s thought, he gathered up all of the washing cloths and small towels, and the most neutral soaps, and put them in the bag as well.  It was time to go, but he wasn’t going to flee from this tower so much as remove himself, with calm dignity. 

With both bags at his feet, Qui-Gon closed his eyes once more.  He strongly suspected that there had to be a Force-user lurking about.  He could fathom no other way the Prelate’s murder could have been hidden from his notice.

Qui-Gon had never practiced hiding himself in the Force; he had only his mate’s memories of it.  Still, as he hesitantly wrapped himself in a mental shroud, he realized Micah had been right.  Hiding within the Force, not hiding from it—it was like being held in a comforting embrace. 

 _And that is a welcome reassurance, right now,_ Qui-Gon thought.  He grabbed the packs and stole out of the room with his hood up, further obscuring himself from notice.

He left the packs in an alcove close to where Tomas Fin was being held, and then peered around the corner.  No guards remained outside the cell except one, the belligerent youth from earlier.

Jamin Ree would never have willingly left his assigned duty.  Qui-Gon spared a thought to hope that he was well, and then strode forward, his hand already resting on the guard’s shoulder before the man had a chance to react.

“You need a nap,” Qui-Gon said in a soft voice.

The guard yawned.  “You know, I could do with a rest,” he said, and wandered off, presumably to find a bed.

The door was not locked.  Inside, he found Tomas facing off against three other guards, who’d backed him into a corner.  Fin had snapped the cuffs open, and was doing his best to fend off the other men with a broken chair and a stylus.  The guards were armed with stun staffs instead of blasters—fortunate, or else Fin would have been dead already.

Nobody noticed Qui-Gon until he spoke.  “Is Second Fin proving to be difficult?”

The guards whirled to face him in a near-comical fashion.  “The—the prisoner is trying to escape!” the nearest one stuttered.  The other two said nothing, only glowered at the interruption.

“He’s heading in the wrong direction, then,” Qui-Gon observed.  Fin’s lips twitched in an abbreviated smile.  Qui-Gon glanced at the talkative guard, giving him a gentle push.  “What’s supposed to happen?”

“He needs to be caught trying to escape!” Talkative Guard said. 

The other guards shifted their glares to him, instead.  “Shut up, you idiot!” the eldest of the trio hissed.

“I think it’s a bit late for that,” Fin pointed out with another faint smile.  “Master Jinn.  I was worried you wouldn’t make it in time.”

All of the listening devices were still in place.  Qui-Gon smiled.  “On the contrary, I think I arrived at just the perfect moment.  Are you ready to depart, Councilor?”

“More than,” Fin replied.  “What about these three?”

“Mm.”  Qui-Gon looked at the three guards, who did their best not to meet his gaze.  “Is it threats, or money?”

“Threats,” said Talkative, as he flushed and looked down at the floor.  “Just at me—don’t have anyone else.”

“Same here,” chimed in the guard who’d shushed Talkative.  “Anonymous, but threatening my wife.  Not much to do when you don’t know where the threat’s coming from.  Nothin’ personal, Councilor Fin.”

“Of course not,” Fin agreed, looking weary.  He and Qui-Gon both had seen far too much of that attitude during the last Tholate war.

“Threats here, too,” muttered the third guard, shuffling his feet.  “Tol’ me m’ kids and all’a their descendants would be caste if I didn’t.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to tell them that the Jedi Ambassador overpowered you,” Qui-Gon said, amused when three heads lifted in surprised tandem.  “Isn’t that right?”

The guards exchanged glances.  “Yeah,” said Talkative.  “With that magic Force stuff.”

The third guard made a face.  “Wouldn’t it be easier if y’just hit us?”

Fin snorted.  “Greslin Tan, look at the size of that man.  Do you _really_ want him to hit you?”

Tan shook his head.  “Magic Force stuff it is.”

“This won’t work on that stipple outside,” said Talkative.  “He got paid to look the other way.”

“He’s already gone for a nap,” Qui-Gon told them.  “What happened to Jamin Ree?”

The second guard shook his head.  “Sudden reassignment.  He tried to fight the orders, but he got overruled.  We all know why he was moved.”

 _Couldn’t be bribed, and nothing to threaten him with,_ Qui-Gon thought.  “Tomas, we need to go.”

The guards helpfully stripped themselves of useful supplies, the better to look their part as victims of the Jedi.  “Play dumb,” Qui-Gon advised.  “Seem dazed when they question you.  You don’t remember anything, anyway.”

“Dazed, huh?  That how it actually works?” Tan asked, while Talkative made ready to break his stun staff against the desk to add to the ruse.

Qui-Gon thought of how easy it would be to truly make sure the guards remembered nothing.  Too easy—and not the path of a Jedi.  “Of course,” he said, and gestured for Fin to precede him out the door.

Before he left, he destroyed five of the listening devices, turning them into so much useless powder.  The sixth he plucked from the painting and put in his pocket, where it rode snug up against the paper he and Fin had used to communicate earlier.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Rillian expected to be pursued.  In fact, she expected _everything_ to go wrong, now that she’d made such a rash decision.  With an empty belly, Xilly’s wheezing breath, and endless flat dirt as her only distractions from the burden in her arms, Rillian was starting to think she had acted far too hastily.

She could have retreated without Master Licia, gone back to her Master, and returned with help.  The older woman needed medical attention, more than Rillian knew how to give.

She could have done more to research methods of transport instead of running back to the capital.  Rillian wasn’t doing too badly, but Xilly was beyond tired.  The Wookiee kept forgetting that not everyone her age had received the same sort of physical training.

She could have done more to find out what the Chiss were doing—

 _Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ Rillian told herself sternly.  _Stop second-guessing yourself.  You did what you did and there is no changing it._

Right or wrong, Rillian could not have left Master Licia in that state, not in good conscience.  That was going to have to be the balm for her itchy, doubting thoughts.

[Let’s go this way,] Rillian said, and refused to chide herself as she led Xilly into a shrub-forest.  Xilly didn’t argue, and bent over with her hands on her knees, gasping for breath when Rillian stopped their progress.

 _Feel, don’t think,_ her Master often told her.  Well, Rillian was feeling and not-thinking, and now she was standing in the middle of a bunch of bushes in a sort-of desert with no idea of what to do next.

 _Why did I stop?  Why?_ Rillian wondered, and then she heard the engine whine. 

Speeders.  She cocked her head and listened, picking up three different tones.

[Hide,] she ordered Xilly, stepping farther into the shrubs and ducking low.  Xilly followed, kneeling down on the sand next to Rillian.  It was an awkward position, with Licia still balanced in her arms, but the shrubs weren’t tall enough to conceal them otherwise.

“Coming after us?” Xilly asked in a rasp that was still punctuated by heaving breaths.  Rillian felt awful for the girl, but at that point there was nothing that could be done.

[Probably,] Rillian admitted.  It had been at least two hours since they had rescued Master Licia.  She had hoped it would be longer before her ruse of bound Chiss was discovered.

“What do we do?” Xilly whispered, as the speeder whine grew louder.  It was much easier to discern the three different engines.  _Two bikes_ , Rillian thought, _and probably a landspeeder_.  As far as search parties were concerned, it would be considered a small, discreet group if it weren’t for the fact that Tholatin suffered from a serious lack of working transports.

[Shh,] Rillian told her, as the landspeeder appeared.  It stopped not far from the scrub forest, and after a moment the two speeder bikes parked alongside.  The riders and one of the landspeeder occupants were Chiss males; the other person in the speeder was a Tholate man with vivid hair like Xilly’s.

“There’s no way of knowing that they came this way,” the Tholate said, a look of supreme disgust on his face.

By contrast, his Chiss companion had an expression that spoke of tried patience.  “I assure you, calculating the speed of the average member of your species, this is the maximum distance someone bearing a burden could have traveled.  There’tona’laluon, Rinna’weme’nalon,” the Chiss said, pointing east and west.  The mounted Chiss men nodded and drove off in opposite directions.

“Now:  We will search here,” the remaining Chiss said, but the human shook his head.

“No, _you_ will search here,” the Tholate retorted.  “This is your fuck-up, Brailin.”

Brailin narrowed his glowing crimson eyes.  To Rillian’s surprise, he only bowed his head.  “So you say,” the Chiss said in a pleasant voice, and started walking the border of the scrub forest, his gaze focused on the ground.

Hunting for tracks, Rillian knew.  She was going to have to act fact.  She lowered Master Licia to the ground, and then looked at Xilly.  [Stay with her,] she said in a low rumble, and Xilly nodded, her eyes huge and almost luminescent in the bright green light of Tholatin’s twin moons.

Rillian sighed.  Her fur was perfect for night-time hunting, and the stupid moons had spoiled it.

She crept to the edge of the scrub forest.  The Chiss was no longer in sight, so either he was sneaking up on Xilly and Licia, or he had missed their tracks completely.  Rillian hoped for the latter, and then gestured in the air.  The Tholate didn’t react.

Rillian scowled, concentrated, and repeated the gesture.  This time the Tholate jumped and whirled around to stare out at the darkened plain where Rillian and Xilly had come from.

Not good enough.  Rillian took a breath, and tried one more time.  This time the result was a noisy clatter, almost like a small rockslide.  The Tholate drew his blaster and started moving in that direction.

Rillian darted out on silent feet, in a full run with her lightsaber drawn but not ignited.  She overtook the Tholate and clubbed him in the back of the head just as he was beginning to turn around.  He dropped to the ground with a muffled groan.  Rillian wondered if she had just dented her lightsaber casing on the man’s extremely thick skull.

“Interesting.  I did not think that Jedi could locate one of their own without the Force’s direction.”

Rillian turned to find Brailin standing behind her, a blaster leveled at her face.  _He must have doubled back,_ she thought, but at least he hadn’t found Xilly and Master Licia. 

[I have a nose,] Rillian said to the Chiss.

“So I see,” Brailin replied, still looking as amused as when the Tholate had told him off.  “You’re very young.  What are the chances I can shoot you before you can ignite that lightsaber and defend yourself, Wookiee Jedi?”

[About fifty-fifty,] Rillian replied, which was not exactly true.  Battle droids had pretty good aim, and she’d kept a group of them from killing her during the Battle of Theed.

“Return the adult Jedi to me, and I will let you retreat safely,” Brailin offered.  Rillian would have been inclined to believe the offer genuine, if not for the fact that he had _not stopped smiling._

[No, I don’t think that will be necessary,] Rillian told him, and then couldn’t help but wince when Xilly slammed a rock against the back of the Chiss’s head.

“Shitfuckdamnfuckfuckfuck _ishedead?_ ” Xilly asked, dropping the rock and looking panicked.

Rillian blinked a few times.  [I think you should meet my other Master,] she said, and stepped closer to Brailin.  The Chiss was unconscious, with blood starting to shine on his black hair.  [He’ll live, Xilly.  Better than he probably deserves,] Rillian rumbled, her earlier disgust returning.  [Like I would return a prisoner to someone who would treat her so cruelly.]

Xilly looked to her left, and her expression brightened.  “Hey, we have a speeder!”

[So we do.]  Rillian uttered a short chuckle at her friend’s renewed enthusiasm, and went to go retrieve Master Licia.

Licia was awake when Rillian got to her, blinking up at the night sky and looking confused.  Then she noticed Rillian and smiled.  “Hello, young Padawan.  Are you rescuing me?”

[Yes, Master,] Rillian replied, grateful to see that the woman was conscious and coherent.  [It’s sort of a work in progress.]

“Ah,” Licia said, her smile widening.  “And the swearing I heard earlier?”

[That would be your other rescuer.  I’ll introduce you,] Rillian said, and bent to scoop the Master back into her arms.

“My apologies,” Licia murmured.  “I would walk if I were capable.”

[I know.]  Rillian thought the Master was embarrassed about being incapacitated, which seemed odd.  Master Obi-Wan had never been embarrassed about being injured—just impatient, grumpy, and mouthy.

“Hey, neat, she’s awake!  Does that make things easier?” Xilly asked, once she could see Licia’s alert, if pained, expression.

“I’m afraid not, little one,” Licia said.  “It is very nice of you to help this young Padawan.”

Xilly grinned.  “Thanks, but I don’t mind.  It’s been fun helping Rillian.”

Licia frowned.  “Rillian?  _Raallandirr?_ ”

[That would be me,] Rillian rumbled, confused by Licia’s reaction as she carefully lowered the Jedi Master into the speeder’s rear bench seat.  [Why?]

Licia startled her by grinning.  “Qui-Gon is actually here?”

[Yes.  Would you rather he have rescued you?] Rillian asked, trying not to be annoyed.

“Oh!  No, it isn’t that.  You are doing a marvelous job, dear,” Master Licia reassured her.  “A rescue is a rescue, regardless of method or circumstance.  He is well?”

Rillian paused, recalled what her Master had told her about Tholatin’s first war, and then nodded.  [Yes, he’s fine.]  She hesitated and then tilted her head, checking on her training bond.  Yes, definitely fine.  [A little annoyed, maybe.]

“A little annoyed?”  Licia gave Rillian a knowing look.  “I think it best if we discover what has annoyed Master Jinn.”

Xilly snickered.  “Is ‘annoyed’ some Jedi code for being seriously sanded?”

[Maybe,] Rillian said, rumbling thoughtfully under her breath as she rummaged through the speeder’s storage bin and came up with two coils of plastine rope.  [I’m going to hide these two in the scrub, and then we can go find out.]

She stripped the Chiss and the Tholate of commlinks, blasters, rations, and credits.  The last might have been a bit petty, but it was a good mix of Republic chit, local Tholate coin, and what had to be Chiss currency.  They had no supplies, and if Rillian was going to be on the run with a Tholate slave and an injured Jedi Master, it would be nice to pay for food instead of stealing it outright.

Rillian stood up, listening for engine whine.  When there was nothing except Xilly’s excited questions and Licia’s quiet, patient replies, she dragged the two men into the scrub forest, hobbled each man’s ankles, bound them wrist to wrist, and left them out of sight.  They would be able to get to their feet and rescue themselves…if they worked together.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Tomas Fin was looking at the war memorial when Qui-Gon returned, weaving his way through the gravestones.  The twin moons caused the white marble stone to glow, making the Garden of Souls easy to navigate in the middle of the night.

Qui-Gon had _not_ bothered with the umbrellas.  He had honored the dead properly that morning; he was not going to worry about tradition when there were more important concerns on his mind.

“I haven’t been here in years, not since the dedication ceremony,” Fin said, after Qui-Gon had been standing quietly at his side for long minutes.  “My son’s name is on here, but not my wife’s.  When I discovered they had excluded her, I refused to ever return.”

“I am sorry,” Qui-Gon told him, unable to completely shield against the other man’s bitterness.

Fin shook his head.  “It wasn’t your doing, then or now.  Fourteen years is a long time to hold a grudge against senseless oversight.”

“Except that it was not oversight,” Qui-Gon guessed, and Fin gave a brief, stilted nod.  “I do not blame you for your anger.”

Tomas Fin turned and looked at him.  “What do we do now, Qui-Gon Jinn?”

“We wait,” Qui-Gon replied, allowing the subject change.  He gestured to the soft grass that surrounded the memorial.  “I suggest that you try to rest.  I don’t yet know what dawn will bring.”

“Cemetery visitors, most likely,” Fin said with another faint smile.  He sat down in a slight depression about a meter away from the memorial, sighing.  “It’s been a long time since I slept outdoors.”

 _Not that long for me,_ Qui-Gon thought, recalling warm soil and cool breeze, sharp scent of earth, and the pleasurable company of Obi-Wan passing time by sleeping with his head pillowed in Qui-Gon’s lap.  Now that he had allowed himself to remember that moment, Qui-Gon had to grit his teeth against fierce longing.  Time had definitely told him what he would prefer, and Kaazcint won out over Tholatin any damned day.

“Will you be taking your own advice?” Fin asked.

Qui-Gon forced a pleasant smile onto his face.  “I’m not fond of the idea of being crept up on in the dark.  I’ll be keeping watch.”

He entered a light meditation, one that left Qui-Gon aware of his surroundings while still letting him drift in the Force.  Tomas Fin fell into an uneasy sleep after a couple hours of restlessness; dawn was still several hours away.  If the Second was being pursued, no one was coming near the Garden of Souls to search for him.

Everything he sensed told him it was safe to rest.  His body, stressed by the long, confined space journey and the insane political knots of Tholatin, didn’t need a further invitation, and Qui-Gon fell asleep while still seated in lotus.

He dreamed of the cell where Fin had broken his fingers, where he’d almost died before Licia’s rescue.  To his intense relief, the building was as it must be now, abandoned and open to the elements.  The walls were cracked from age and neglect, the paint faded and weather-washed.  The floor was littered with trash and broken bits of furniture, with signs that animals came and went freely.

“Looks better this way,” Ben said.

Qui-Gon turned; Obi-Wan was peering up at the broken ceiling, which had given way at some point as the roots of a tree pushed through.  “Hello.”

“Hello,” his mate replied, walking closer until he was just shy of touching distance.  He looked the same as when Qui-Gon had dreamed of him during the Yinchorri Uprising: showing his age, his hair fading to dull blond, tinged with gray and streaked with white.  His smile was warm, though, and his eyes glimmered with good humor.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Qui-Gon said, because it was the truth and because, as always, these dreams tended to leave him confused.

“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out to take Qui-Gon’s hand.  “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since you left.”

“This is actually happening, then.”  Qui-Gon felt relieved.  That was a lot easier to deal with than portents. 

“What made you think it wasn’t?”

Qui-Gon lifted a strand of Obi-Wan’s hair so that Obi-Wan could see it, revealing its coloration.  “This.”

Obi-Wan raised both eyebrows.  “Ah.  That explains the expression on your face.  No wonder you were confused.”  He closed his eyes; a moment later, Obi-Wan looked far more like the man Qui-Gon had left on a Coruscant landing platform nineteen days ago.

“Better,” Qui-Gon said, and pulled Obi-Wan into his arms.  Stresses and anxieties melted away, tension dissipated, and he felt like he could breathe easier.

“Best therapy ever,” Ben murmured into Qui-Gon’s shoulder, burrowed as close as he could get and not be stripping them naked.

“Oh, don’t think like that, I just changed the sheets on our bed,” Ben said, and Qui-Gon grinned.

“I doubt we would have time.  These moments tend not to last very long.”

“Mm.  Pity.”  Ben stepped back enough to look at him, keeping their hands clasped together.  “Are you all right?”

Qui-Gon  nodded.  “Tholatin renewed its reputation the day after Rillian and I arrived, but yes.  I’m fine, and so is she.  I believe she’s close to discovering Master Licia, or has found her already.”

“I can top that,” Obi-Wan said.

“Oh?” Qui-Gon smiled.  “And what trouble have you made, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“I did _nothing_ ,” Obi-Wan retorted, smiling back.  “Bad man.  A group of Blood Carvers tried to assassinate Finis during my Confirmation.”

Qui-Gon shook his head.  The news was not surprising.  It was only strange that it hadn’t happened sooner.  “No, I still win.  Someone _did_ assassinate Prelate Tai yesterday.”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said.  “What did you win?”

“Headache,” Qui-Gon told him, and leaned forward until their foreheads rested together.  “Mental baggage in the form of guilt.  You?”

“Stabbings,” Obi-Wan muttered.  “Shoddy prizes.”

Qui-Gon chuckled.  “Love, I believe we’ve both been doing this for too long.”

The dream was lost before he received a reply.  Qui-Gon blinked to adjust his eyes to the blue light of dawn, and heard a high-pitched engine whine, the sound that must have awakened him.

 _Rillian,_ he thought, and ran for the cemetery entrance.

The Wookiee girl piloted a landspeeder straight to the gate and cut the thrusters with a jolt that made them both flinch.  Her two passengers slept through the misfire without a hint of complaint.  The speeder’s arrival seemed to have attracted no attention whatsoever, which he considered a blessing.

 _Master!_ Rillian sent, clambering out of the speeder and landing awkwardly half-on, half-off the path.  _IfoundherthereareChisshereXillyhitoneIcouldreallyuseanap._

Qui-Gon grabbed her by the shoulders and then held her while Rillian shook from overexertion, nerves, and exhaustion.  When she was calmer, he gave her what energy he could spare.  Rillian sighed in his arms, her shivering easing.

[I’m better now.  Thank you.]

“Tell me what happened,” he instructed in a low voice.  Licia would be benefited more by continued rest than his prodding her awake. 

Rillian nodded, took a deep breath, and told him about meeting young Xilly _da_ Hurun, sneaking into House _da_ Ere, the Chiss, rescuing Master Licia, and then dealing with the Chiss and Tholate that followed.

“You left them in the desert with their hands bound to each other?”  Qui-Gon couldn’t restrain a smile.  “Devious, yet just, young Padawan.”

[Thank you, Master,] Rillian said, ducking her head.  [I thought you might consider it petty, like me stealing all of their credits.]

“There is a fine line between teaching a lesson and performing acts of petty vengeance, Rillian,” Qui-Gon told her.  “And stealing their funds was not petty, it was practical.”

“Is that what we call thievery now?” Licia asked in a cracked voice.

Qui-Gon smiled and went to her, taking her hand when she reached out.  Her dark skin had a gray quality to it that he didn’t like at all.  Her clothes were torn and badly stained.  “You pick pockets, Licia.  You haven’t a leg to stand on.”  Beneath his fingers, her pulse was not strong, but it was steady.

“That is almost a literal truth,” Licia returned with an apologetic look.  “I can’t walk.  Get me out of this contraption, would you please?”

Qui-Gon lifted her free of the speeder, intense sympathy surging within him as his nose informed him of the dire conditions in which she’d been held.  “There is a stream that runs through the rear of the cemetery,” he said.  “It isn’t the warmest water, but it’s clean, and I do believe I stripped our quarters of every bit of soap that you would find tolerable.  Could you stand it?”

Licia shuddered.  “Qui-Gon Jinn, _I itch._   I will tolerate further chill for the comfort of being clean.”

[I think the white servants’ clothes I stole to wear would probably fit you,] Rillian offered.  [There might be some Wookiee hair involved, but they’re clean.]

“Bless you, dear,” Licia said in obvious relief.

The girl, Xilly, sat up in the front seat of the speeder and rubbed her eyes.  “Hey, we’ve stopped—Hey!  You can’t take her!” she yelped, upon seeing Qui-Gon.  “We saved her first!”

[Xilly, this is my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.  Master, this is Xilly _da_ Hurun,] Rillian introduced him, her eyes shining with humor at Xilly’s reaction.

Xilly’s pale skin flushed the same shade of pink as the river.  “Oh—uhm—I’m _so_ sorry, Mister Jinn,” she squeaked.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Qui-Gon replied, doing his best to hide his own amusement while Rillian helped the girl from the speeder.  He suspected she was a young teenager, but Xilly had the too-lanky frame of an adolescent who was not getting enough to eat. 

“Thank you for helping my Padawan to save Master Licia.  Your assistance was invaluable.”

“Uh—thank you?” Xilly ventured.  Even without her hood, there was no mistaking that Xilly had been caste all her life.  She didn’t have the confidence, or the acceptance, of one who was used to being thanked.  “You’re like Rillian, right?  I can talk—I mean, I don’t have to put this—” she gestured to her hood, which hung down her back in a large bundle of white cloth.

“You’re as equal as the rest of us,” Qui-Gon told her in a soothing voice.  Xilly was shy and stammering, not at all like the competent young woman that Rillian had described.  Qui-Gon wondered if it were his age or his gender that was frightening her, and decided not to dwell on it before the entire Tholatin situation angered him anew.

He recognized her from his vision, of course.  It remained to be seen what had so horrified her about Tomas Fin.

Rillian looked at their transport and growled, [What about the speeder, Master?]

Qui-Gon glanced down at Licia, who only raised an eyebrow.  No help there.  “It won’t fit through the gate.  Xilly, do you know of a hiding place?”

The girl shook her head.  “Not around here, sir.”

[I’ll move it to the side of the cemetery wall, then,] Rillian decided.  [Just because we can’t hide it doesn’t mean it should be so obvious.]

Qui-Gon nodded.  “Meet us back inside, then, at the war memorial I showed you yesterday.”

Tomas Fin was awake and waiting for him.  When he saw Licia, his eyes lit up in a way that explained a great deal about Rillian’s discovered Patchil trails.  “Thank your Force,” he said.  “Master Licia, I’m very glad to see you alive.”

“It’s very good to be alive, Tomas,” Licia replied.  Her smile, marked by exhaustion and pain, was still full of warmth for the Tholatin Second.  “Are you well?”

“I’m a fugitive from a government in turmoil,” Fin said, with a wry look at Qui-Gon.  “I suspect I’m doing very well.  And who is this?” he asked, as Xilly crept up behind them, looking around with wide eyes.  Caste had not been barred from the Garden of Souls fourteen years ago, but if Xilly’s reaction was anything to go by, it was obvious that things had changed.

Xilly _meeped_ when she noticed the Second, and scrambled for her hood.  “No, please, do not,” Fin said, before Xilly’s panic got any worse.  “I am one of those rare Tholates who cares not a whit if you are hooded or not.”

Xilly paused with her arms raised at awkward angles, hands still gripping the fabric of her white hood.  “Those exist?” she asked, confusion and suspicion writ large on her face. 

 _Definitely gender,_ Qui-Gon thought, and restrained a sigh.

“I assure you, they do.  The policies of Lakat-sti are not my own.  Or have you not heard the bizarre rumors of caste treatment coming from House _da_ Chee?” Fin asked.  “I had thought those would spread like wildfire.”

“I don’t hear many rumors, sir,” Xilly said, and looked relieved when she saw Rillian, who rejoined them with a woof of disdain for speeder parking. 

“What happened, Tomas?” Licia asked, shifting her arm and making a face when the motion must have hurt her.  “Why are you a fugitive?”

“Prelate Tai was murdered, and by grace of suspiciously good timing, I was implicated in the act,” Fin explained.  “Hello, young Raallandirr,” he greeted Qui-Gon’s Padawan.

[Hello, Second Fin,] Rillian replied, and inclined her head to make sure the greeting was understood.  [I guess you had to be rescued, too?]

“Rescued?” Xilly frowned.  “You mean…they were going to martyr him, like Councilor Yue?”

“Not quite the correct definition, dear,” Licia said.  “Yue was a martyr; Tomas would just be a scapegoat.”

“What’s a goat?”

Rillian explained the existence of goats to Xilly, and how they fit in the political landscape, while Qui-Gon frowned at Fin.  “You and I both know the reason why you were chosen to be a scapegoat.”

Fin gave his typical faint smile.  “Which means it is the act of someone who does not understand personal evolution.”

“Or is just a blasted idiot,” Licia countered, sighing.  “Force knows there’s plenty of that going around.”

“Okay, so goats are like sta-vahs,” Xilly was saying, and the sun’s rays leapt over the horizon, illuminating her face just as Fin looked in her direction.

“By the names of all the gods,” Tomas whispered, his tanned skin turning almost as pale as Xilly’s.  “What is your name, child?”

Xilly stared at the Councilor in dismay.  “Uh—er—”

Rillian elbowed her.  [Xilly, it’s okay.  He’s on our side.  Master wouldn’t put up with him, otherwise.]

Qui-Gon decided it was a very good thing that Fin couldn’t understand Rillian’s Wookiee Basic.  Licia, who had no such difficulty, uttered an amused snort.

Xilly gulped and then nodded.  “I’m Xilly—Xilly _da_ Hurun.”

Tomas Fin looked as if he had been kicked hard in the gut.  He took a step away, staring at the long line of marble stones as the light grew brighter.  “No wonder they would not put my wife’s name on the memorial.  They made House _da_ Hurun caste.”

“Sir?”  Xilly was starting to look alarmed.  “ _da_ Hurun has always been caste.”

“No, it hasn’t, but I imagine you were told that in order to keep you safe,” Fin said, heaving a sigh before turning to face the girl again.  “Your name is Xilliam Wis _da_ Hurun.”

Xilly frowned, taking a step back.  She looked at Rillian for encouragement before thrusting her chin up into the air.  “How do you know that?  I didn’t even give Rillian my full name,” she said, managing to sound both imperious and terrified.

“Your mother was Xalleen Wis, yes?” Fin asked.

Xilly gave him a very cautious nod. 

“Her sister was Kael Wis.  She was my wife.”  Then, in a gentle voice, Fin said, “You are my niece, Xilliam Wis.  I am your uncle.”

Xilly stared at Tomas Fin, a horrified expression on her face.

Qui-Gon swallowed, unnerved and alarmed.  True-seeing.  He’d had a thrice-damned true-seeing.  No wonder the imagery had been so intense.  He had not been glimpsing potentials so much as foregone conclusions.

In his arms, Licia stirred restlessly.  “Oh, Tom,” she murmured. 

[Xilly?] Rillian nudged the girl with her shoulder.  [Are you okay?]

Xilly swallowed.  “I’m the head of my house,” she whispered.

Qui-Gon wracked his memory while the drama played out.  What else had he seen?

“So am I,” Fin replied, looking grave.  “I would offer you the sanctuary of my House, as a welcome member of my family, but that will have to wait until I’m cleared of murdering our Prelate.”

“Really?” Xilly still looked disbelieving.

Ships.  Chiss.  Overlapping fences.

Qui-Gon drew in a sharp breath.  “Fucking Sith hells, Licia.  We’re in the middle of a galactic border dispute.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Impossible,” Fin was saying, frowning.  “We’d know if we were part of a larger governing body.”

“Perhaps not,” Master Qui-Gon said.  There was a strange expression on his face, like he was already plotting despite his bewilderment.  Rillian liked the plotting; it meant interesting things happened.

“There are moments in our history where planets have been included inside the Republic’s borders, but due to their distance from well-traveled space lanes or their own lack of technology, they don’t know that they are Republic members until someone tells them,” Licia explained.  “Hells, sometimes _we_ don’t even know of their existence until they find something to complain about.”

[Do you think that is what’s happening here?] Rillian asked.

Qui-Gon shook his head.  “No.  I think this is something else.”

“I’d like a bath before we start debating,” Licia murmured.  The Master’s voice was stronger, though still rough and scratchy…but there was a yellowish tinge to Licia’s skin that Rillian didn’t think was normal.  She wondered if her Master had seen it.

“Of course,” Qui-Gon told Licia, and then he looked at Rillian.  “Our packs are by the memorial.  Grab the one that smells like food and bring it to me, please.”

Food!  Rillian’s stomach growled at full volume.  [Yes, Master.]

He looked amused.  “You may eat some of it, too, but fetch it, first.”

Rillian snagged the correct pack and followed him down to the stream.  Xilly, after a quick, nervous glance at Tomas Fin, followed them, with the extra white clothes bundled in her arms.

Qui-Gon had set the other Master down next to the water, and was carefully peeling away Licia’s overtunic.  Underneath that was a camisole, sort of like the ones Shmi Skywalker preferred.  It was almost as badly stained as the top layer. 

“I’m afraid I can’t give you much privacy, Licia,” Qui-Gon said.

Licia snorted.  “I’ve already seen you naked as the day you were born, Qui-Gon Jinn, and in much the same condition.  Fair is fair.”

“It does seem as if we’re trading off in regards to this particular planet,” Qui-Gon replied, a wry smile on his face. 

[Do you need help?] Rillian offered, once she had unpacked all of the stolen cloths and soaps.  The smell of the cooked food was making her mouth water, but her greedy stomach could wait.  Licia’s health was far more important.

“No, it will be all right.  I imagine you’ve missed too many meals as it is,” her Master said in reassurance.  He smiled again, this one just for her.  “Set aside the ration bars.  I don’t think Licia could handle a Tholatin dinner right now.”

Master Licia made a distressed noise.  “Please, don’t discuss food at _all_.”

Rillian nodded, made sure all the supplies were in easy reach of her Master’s hands, and went to share the meal with Xilly, just out of sight from where Master Licia was bathing.  The food was cold, but everything was still good.  To Rillian’s pleasure, there was nothing raw, and there were no more of those bitter herbs to mar the flavor.

Xilly kept glancing around while they ate, like she was afraid of getting caught eating upper Tholate food.  Then, to Rillian’s surprise, she said, “We should save some for Second Fin.  If your Master had to rescue him, he probably hasn’t eaten, either.”

Rillian wuffed in surprise.  [That’s a really nice thing to do.]

Xilly almost smiled, but she still looked unhappy.  “I guess so.”

[What’s wrong?]

“I just…” Xilly sighed.  “I’m not used to having family.  And he’s an Upper, and he’s a…”

[Man,] Rillian finished.  She hadn’t missed the way her friend had turned into a skittish _bitabon_ around Master Qui-Gon, something that only got worse when introduced to the Tholate elder. 

Xilly’s shoulders hunched.  “I haven’t really had…I mean, men like that, they tend to be…not so nice.”

Rillian winced.  She hoped Xilly wasn’t talking about assault, because Rillian was too young to be of much use for that.  She just didn’t have those instincts yet. 

Instead, she put her arm around Xilly’s shoulders and hugged her.  [I can’t say the same of Second Fin, because I don’t know him that well yet, but I can promise you that Master Qui-Gon is a very, very nice person,] Rillian said.

“You’re sure?” Xilly asked.  She wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t look completely disbelieving anymore, either.

[Of course I’m sure.  I’d bite him, otherwise,] Rillian confided.  [It’s hard to be a bad person if your apprentice keeps biting you when you’re naughty.]

“I thought you weren’t an uncontrollable beast-girl,” Xilly accused, starting to smile.

[Biting someone on purpose isn’t being uncontrollable,] Rillian shot back, grinning wide and purposefully showing off all of her teeth.  [It’s usually well-deserved.]

“So, how do I know that—that my uncle is nice?” Xilly asked.

Rillian pointed at the food.  [The only way to find out is to give him a chance.]

Xilly’s chin came up.  She took a deep breath, nodded, and started gathering their leftovers together.  “Okay.  Let’s go try.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

A border dispute.  An intergalactic border dispute, no less.  Licia could think of no precedent for it—planets were either part of the Republic, or they were not.  It was so bizarre, so foreign, that she managed to forget the pain of her body for a little while.

The water was fecking _cold_ , however.

“Sorry,” Qui-Gon murmured, rinsing her hair.  “Not much to be done about that, not without a fire.”

“I’d rather not advertise our very obvious presence any further,” Licia agreed.  She was, to her shame, of no help whatsoever.  Her arms shook when she tried to lift them; her legs would not hold her, and if no one supported her body, she slumped over helplessly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Qui-Gon chided her in a gentle voice.  “You cannot spend so much time bound in one position and expect to be leaping for the rafters within the first hour.”

“I don’t like being helpless,” she muttered, feeling rebellious and unhappy.

“No one does,” Qui-Gon said, but didn’t comment further on her sulking as he washed the grime from her back and arms.

Strangely enough, that simple truth did cheer her.  Licia was not the first to find herself in such horrible circumstances, and would not be the last. 

“I’m out of the first soap,” Qui-Gon said, rinsing her again.  “Pick a new one.”

Licia drew in a fresh breath.  She already smelled like chemical, artificial flowers.  “That one.”  She pointed at a bar soap that was perfumed and barely tolerable.  She knew he would have grabbed the least offensive of Tholatin cleansers, but Licia’s super-sensitive nose hated them all anyway.

“What’s new on Coruscant, Qui-Gon?  Feed me enough gossip and I’ll forget all about being cold and naked.”

“Coruscant gossip,” Qui-Gon mused, as he cleaned her breasts in a very business-like, if gentle, manner.  “Yarael Poof gave up his Council seat.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued.  “I didn’t think I’d live to see that happen.  I thought he’d set down roots in that seat.”  Master Yarael had been a Councilor since before she _and_ Mace were born.  “Who’d he ask to replace him?”

“My Lifebonded,” Qui-Gon replied, re-soaking the cloth in the stream.

Licia burst out in harsh, raspy laughter.  “And he accepted?  That young man is more vociferous in his hatred for Council seats than you’ve ever considered being!”

Qui-Gon grinned.  “I hadn’t realized that his firm, colorful refusal of Micah’s seat had become known.”

Licia snickered again.  “Obi-Wan earned cult status not only for being so young when asked, but for being sensible enough to say no.  The colorful bit was just icing.”  She coughed, paused, and then drew in a careful breath.  The cough did not repeat, which was nice, as her lungs felt just as bruised as the rest of her.

“Why did he take it?” she asked.  It hadn’t been that long since the first refusal, but then, the kid had almost just _died_ recently.  Maybe it was thought that a Council seat would keep Obi-Wan Kenobi out of trouble.  Granted, anyone who believed that should never be allowed to gamble, ever.  That young man had the most blessed, unwitting knack for finding trouble.

“Because he isn’t hiding any longer,” Qui-Gon answered cryptically.  “Come on, let’s get you dipped into the stream.  It’ll help clean out certain crevices.”

Licia grinned.  “You smooth-talker.  I bet you refer to all vaginas that way.”

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and lowered her into the water.  Licia gasped; farking cold, fecking cold, _fucking cold!_

“I do not wish your brother Padawan to come after me with accusations of molestation,” Qui-Gon returned, pulling Licia out of the water when she judged her _crevices_ had been rinsed clean of soap and foulness. 

“Mace is overprotective that way, yes,” Licia agreed, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.  She felt short of breath after that dip, and the cough was threatening to come back.

Then Qui-Gon wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and held her close, offering body heat and a warming tingle that must have been the Force.  She relaxed into his embrace, letting the simple sharing do its good work.

With her body clean, Licia was becoming more mindful of that lack of awareness.  “Do you know anyone who has worn an inhibitor for this long?” she asked, the words muffled by cloth.  Licia hurt, now, the ache deep in her bones and enough to set her teeth on edge.  She couldn’t recall being beaten, but they had been feeding her sedatives for so long that they could have strung her up on a ceiling joist and Licia wouldn’t have noticed.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said, after a significant pause.  There was a great deal of weight in that answer, enough to leave her wondering as to the cause.  “Taking one off after a long period is…shocking.”

 _Damn, damn and more_.  “Then I shouldn’t take it off without Healers nearby,” Licia said, restraining a useless urge to sigh.  “Not unless my health drastically improves before we return to Coruscant.”

“I don’t want to chance it, no.  I know it’s a horrible feeling, but—”

“Better than death,” she finished for him.  Licia wanted the Force back, but she also wanted to go home, mentally reconnect with her twin sister, and perhaps spend a week in a sauna.

“Someone attempted to assassinate Finis Valorum after Rillian and I departed Coruscant,” Qui-Gon said.

Licia pulled back and looked up at him, her jaw trying to come unhinged.  “What?”

“You said that you wanted to be distracted.”

“Now you’re just making things up,” she accused.

Qui-Gon shook his head.  “I am not.”

“Damn.”  Now there was news that definitely took her mind off of her own problems!  “He’s all right?”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “I don’t have all the details yet, especially with how spotty the feeds are out here.”

“Sith related?” Licia asked, curious.  She hadn’t really been a part of the anti-Sith plottings, but these days such things were hard to avoid.

“I would be very surprised if it were not,” Qui-Gon said, and began helping her to dress.  As young Rillian had promised, the clothes were clean, and mostly free of Wookiee hair.

Licia had been imprisoned and sedated for almost twenty days.  Wrapped in clean clothes, free of itching, she felt a hundred times better.  She might still be mentally deaf, but she was a patient woman.  Her Master was a six-hundred-year-old Neti.  Patience was mandatory.

Qui-Gon slipped Licia’s boots onto her feet, which made her wiggle her toes in contentment.  He had given her a pair of his own too-big socks to wear.  Her feet felt warm and comfortable, not gritty and clammy at all.

“Ready for something to eat?” he asked.

Licia’s stomach turned over at the thought of food, and she shivered.  “No, thank you.  I’m not even hungry.”

Qui-Gon gave her a stern glare.  “You will eat a ration bar, or I will make you eat it.”

Licia winced.  Oh, she remembered that look.  He meant every word.  “Hand it over.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Xilly was a brave girl.

She _was_.

With her chin yanked up so high it was hurting her neck, Xilly made her way through the weird white stones that littered the walled-off garden.  Rillian was following a few steps behind, rumbling under her breath and sounding like one of the big predators in the hills.  Instead of scary, the sound was really reassuring.

Second Fin was sitting on the grass in front of the big stone, the one with all the neat line-by-line carving on it.  Xilly paused, bewildered, because she had never seen a Tholate Councilor sit on the ground before. 

He also looked sad.  Xilly was scared, but he seemed miserable, and somehow being scared in the face of that just seemed stupid.

“Sir?” Xilly ventured.

Second Fin blinked a few times and looked up, most of the sadness vanishing from his features.  Xilly knew better now, though.  It had just never occurred to her that the Councilors had still-masks, just like a good smart caste servant knew how to make. 

“Uhm—we thought you might be hungry,” she said, when he didn’t speak right away.  “It didn’t seem right for us to eat and not make sure you were fed, too.”

He smiled, and it made his pale eyes seem so much warmer.  “That is very kind of you to offer.  Thank you.”

Xilly breathed out a sigh of relief, and Rillian helped her lay the food back out on the ground in front of the Second.  “I know it’s just leftovers, but Mister Jinn got them from the tower.”

[Master Jinn.  Proper title,] Rillian told her.  [But he’ll probably insist you call him Master Qui-Gon.  He doesn’t like the family name formality stuff unless we’re going _really_ diplomatic.]

Xilly nodded, unconsciously getting herself into a service position.  When Second Fin asked for nothing, she looked at him in patient confusion.

After a too-long moment that made Xilly’s shoulders itch, Fin seemed to sigh.  “I need no service,” he said.  “In fact, I would like it if you would join me.”

“Uh—I’ve already eaten, sir,” Xilly replied, bowing her head.

“Yes, but was it enough?” he asked in a kind voice.

Kind.  It was weird; she wasn’t _used_ to kind from an Upper.  Demands, orders, instructions, threats, curses—yes.  Kindness was foreign.

Xilly was still hungry, too.  Her normal breakfast portion was what she had eaten in Rillian’s company, and that should have been enough.  Then again, she normally didn’t run around in the scrub all night, hitting strange blue people with rocks.

Training warred with stomach, but training won.  She was used to her life depending on it.  “Sir, I can’t.  I’m not allowed,” Xilly blurted.

Second Fin gazed at her with a not-expression on his face, and it struck Xilly that he was nervous, too.  He wasn’t _supposed_ to be nervous.  That made her want to be angry, because someone had to know what to do here, and it definitely wasn’t Xilly.

Then he said, “Xilliam Wis, it would honor me if you would join me for this meal, the first of many that we will share together as family members bound by marriage and House alliance.”

Xilly gaped at him.  “Sir?” she whispered, almost as shocked as when Second Fin had named himself her uncle.  She’d heard that request before, of course.  It was considered a great honor, a marked end to any hostilities.

“Do you object?” Second Fin asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Xilly blinked a few times and sat down on her rear.  “No.  I accept,” she said quickly, and then stuffed a roll into her mouth so she wouldn’t talk anymore and label herself an idiot.

He really meant it.  Second Tomas Fin was her uncle and her ally.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Licia made a few half-hearted jokes about the Jinn Transportation Service, and Qui-Gon obligingly smiled at each one.  With the sun fully risen and pouring too-bright light down upon them, it was easier to see how much Licia’s captivity had marked her, visible in her too-tight skin and sunken eyes.  Hopefully, food would help her body, just as getting clean had lifted her spirits.

That damned inhibitor.  Where the hell had it come from?

Tomas Fin was sharing a meal with Xilly, with Rillian sitting close by for company.  The Tholate girl still wasn’t comfortable, but she was no longer shrinking away from her uncle.

Qui-Gon set Licia down next to Rillian, a position that happened to be upwind of the scattered remains of their cold breakfast, while also putting her directly across from Tomas Fin.  Licia gave Qui-Gon a pleased look, while Rillian barked a hello and Xilly gave them a shy smile.

[Are you hungry, Master?] Rillian asked.

“No, no thank you.”  Qui-Gon shook his head.  “Later, perhaps.  I’m still trying to convince our other ambassador to eat her ration bar.” 

The ambassador in question looked put-upon.  “I’m not that hungry, really.  They must have been feeding me,” Licia said, turning the half-eaten ration bar around in her hands, as if hoping it would become more appealing.  “I could have survived twenty days in captivity without food if they were watering me, but I look too healthy to have been deprived for very long.”

[There weren’t any nutrient feeds when I found you,] Rillian said.  [I remember seeing a stand that _maybe_ could have supported them, but there was nothing hanging on it.  Rescuing you would have been a lot harder if I’d had to deal with intravenous lines.]

“So they had decided to dispose of me.”  Licia frowned.  “I’m even more grateful to have been rescued.”

[But that’s just stupid,] Rillian protested.  [If they were going to get rid of the evidence of your existence, why not just shoot you and bury you in the _da_ Ere garden?]

“It’s not a stupid tactic at all,” Tomas Fin said, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.  “If they kept Master Licia under sedation until she died of malnutrition, her body could then be produced with the claim that she had been found in the wilderness, dead of exposure and starvation.”

“Which would put the burden of proof back on the Republic’s shoulders,” Qui-Gon said, and resisted the urge to scowl.  This was a step above the usual Tholatin games, but the planning was crude.  Foolishness, a lack of time—he wasn’t certain which was to blame, but for now that didn’t matter.  They just had to _fix_ it.

Licia slowly rotated the ration bar around with her hands again.  Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of her fingernails, their color revealed by the light.  _Oh, no._

“Licia,” he said quietly.  When Qui-Gon had her attention, he motioned at her hands.

The younger Master regarded her long fingers thoughtfully, and then noticed the yellow tinge to her nails.  “Oh.  Oh, dear,” she whispered.  She turned her arm over and slid up the long white sleeve.  The paler skin of the bottom of her arm was beginning to show the same color, especially at her wrists.  “From what they were drugging me with, do you think?”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “More than likely.”

Rillian noticed his sudden concern through their training bond.  [What is it?]

“Impending liver failure, if my weak stomach and lack of appetite are any indication,” Licia said in a calm voice. 

“That’s…that’s bad, isn’t it?” Xilly asked cautiously.

“It’s fatal, unless Tholatin medical technology has made significant advancements in the last decade,” Licia said, looking at Tomas Fin.

Fin was staring back at her, a stunned expression on his face.  “No.  No, it has not.”

Qui-Gon almost winced away from the strong current of emotion that connected Fin and Licia.  Not a bond, not yet, but it was obvious to him that they already cared a great deal for each other.  Fin had not prepared himself for another heartache, and Licia…

Qui-Gon turned to stare at Licia as well, as several things became very clear.  She was the twin sister of Master Linena, who was partnered with Master Depa Billaba, though the two women had never formally bonded or wed. 

 _Maybe Depa and Linena will actually stay together, given some early intervention_ , Obi-Wan had written, scattered notes from what had become a very long first session for the newest Councilor.

Qui-Gon had been dead, in that other-when.  He would never have returned to Tholatin.  Licia hadn’t survived, not without a skilled young Wookiee Padawan to find her.

The twins were a humanoid species that created strong mental bonds with family members.  Licia’s death would have meant that Linena suffered, as well.  The turmoil would have strained her relationship with Depa to the breaking point. 

Perhaps that event alone was enough to divide the partnered women; perhaps there was something else, a detail that Obi-Wan was never privy to.  Regardless, in that time and place, it had eventually sent Depa Billaba into Darkness and madness.

Now it was worse:  Here, Depa was already struggling through her grief over Jil-Hyra.  Two such grievous emotional impacts could return that once-done fate to a certainty. 

 _Fates intertwine,_ Qui-Gon thought, _whether we like it or not._   He was not in the mood to see either woman lost, no matter the circumstances.

“Well, that makes it an easy decision, then,” Qui-Gon said, which made several eyebrows lift in surprise and irritation at his glib tone.  “We have to get Master Licia off of this planet.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Well, that sounds easy enough,” Tomas Fin returned in a bitter tone.  “And how do you propose we do that?”

Rillian lifted her head.  She was really worried about Master Licia, but worrying did nothing, and talking was just a stop-gap.  This was a time for doing, and she already had an idea.  [Well, those Chiss had to get here _somehow_ ,] she said.  [I doubt they’re relying on transport drops like we are, Master.]

“That is a very good point,” Master Qui-Gon said, sending her a short burst of approval through their bond.  He translated for Rillian, since Tomas Fin couldn’t understand her no matter which language she used, and then said, “There are only three official landing ports on Tholatin.  I highly doubt they’re using the one outside of Lakat-sti.”

“No, there are four,” Tomas Fin said, and both Masters looked at him in surprise.  The Tholatin elder sighed.  “Something no one thought to inform you of.  Of course.  There is a fourth spaceport on Tholatin, for all we barely have need of even one.  It is several kilometers north of the _da_ Ere estates.  To my knowledge, no one uses it but the northern families, and then only once a year when shipping out the wine harvests.”

“It could just be an oversight,” Master Licia said.

“It could be,” Qui-Gon agreed, but he didn’t seem convinced.  “Given the known location of some of our Chiss friends, and House _da_ Ere’s proximity to that unmentioned spaceport, however…”

[I think we should go,] Rillian said, trusting her instincts as well as the Masters’ reasoning.

“There could be nothing there,” Tomas Fin cautioned, once her words were repeated.  “They know you have Licia, and that I know of the fourth port.  If they are wise, they will have relocated.”

“Nothing of what has been done strikes me as very wise at all,” Qui-Gon murmured.  Rillian wondered what he was thinking of—aside from how stupid it was to kidnap a Jedi Master.  The Order was well-known for looking after its own.  There were overly dramatic, silly, “true-story-based” holo films made about Jedi rescues at least once a month.

“Well, they wouldn’t expect you to go back, would they?” Xilly asked, looking matter-of-fact.  “They’re probably used to people trying to get as far _away_ from them as possible, not to folk turning right around and marching through their garden.”

Qui-Gon looked at Licia.  The woman smiled in response.  “We might as well make the attempt, Qui-Gon,” she said.  “Force knows we don’t have many other options.”

The speeder was not meant to carry five people, especially if one of those five was injured.  Master Licia was stretched out in the back, supported by Tomas Fin, who kept an arm around her shoulders and looked as if he dared anyone to say a word about it.  Some humans were funny that way, acting defensive about things that others would happily cheer them for.

Her Master piloted; Rillian sat next to him, feeling very uncomfortable sitting on the ridge that made up the two separate seats.  Xilly was next to her, staring out at the passing scenery and trying hard not to fall asleep.

Rillian was not tired at all.  She was too busy thinking about a potential army of Chiss waiting to greet them.

 _That may not be inaccurate,_ her Master said.

Rillian glanced up at him.  He did not remove his hands from the controls, but he did look down at her for a brief moment.  She could tell he was thinking hard about something. 

 _What’s wrong?_ she asked.

 _The way has been clear until now, but I do not believe that our luck is going to hold._   He looked at her again.  _You must return with Master Licia to Coruscant._

The bottom fell out of her stomach.  That was—that was _completely_ unacceptable!  _I am_ not _leaving you here!_ Rillian snapped, remembering only at the last moment to keep their discussion silent. 

_Raallandirr._

She took a deep breath and let it out, but her frustration and worry did not depart with it.  _I’m not.  Master Obi-Wan said I was to stick with you, even if you tried to get rid of me._

He smiled.  _I’m not trying to get rid of you.  Believe me, I’d prefer that you stay._

That made her feel a bit better.  At least he wasn’t attempting to ditch her to go off and do something foolish.  _Then what is it?_

_Master Licia is Grendallian.  Not only is her physical health failing her, but her mental health is going to start to deteriorate, also.  She needs someone with her who is Force-sensitive, who can help to keep that deterioration at bay until she reaches her sister on Coruscant._

_That still doesn’t explain why you’re not going with us,_ Rillian protested.  _There’s nothing that says we can’t give Xilly and Tomas Fin political asylum until we can return to Tholatin!_

Qui-Gon shook his head.  _If the situation were as it was presented, I would agree with you.  That is a good solution, one I applaud you for recommending.  However, there are Chiss involved, and that changes the game.  We don’t yet know what they want, or why.  Running from Tholatin now could leave the Republic vulnerable in the future._

Rillian grumbled under her breath, but she knew her Master was right.  They were responsible for Tholatin, for themselves, and for the Republic.  Her sense of loyalty still balked at leaving him in a dangerous situation, though.

_Okay.  What do we do?_

When the speeder halted about a klik away from the spaceport, everyone knew what had to be done.  They climbed out of the speeder and clustered together in a tight knot, except for Tomas Fin and Licia.  He was cradling her in his arms, and walked a few paces away to speak to her in private.

[Don’t you dare get hurt,] Rillian told her Master, scolding him like a mother Wook rounding up her misbehaving cubs.  [You don’t want Master Obi-Wan chasing you down with a stick.]

“We cannot have that,” Master Qui-Gon agreed, and hugged her.  _Stay safe, Rillian.  Burn the sublights.  Don’t let them catch you._

She nodded.  [May the Force be with you, Master.]

“And with you, Padawan.”  He let her go, so Rillian shook herself to steady her nerves, and then turned to Xilly.

Xilly looked miserable.  “You’re the first friend I’ve ever had,” the girl said. 

[And I’ll still be your friend tomorrow, and the next day, and next year, and then some,] Rillian told her in a practical voice.  [Things will be better, you’ll see.  I bet you’ll even get to visit,] she said, and gestured in Tomas Fin and Licia’s direction.

Xilly looked at them, thoughtful.  “Maybe,” she admitted, and then threw herself at Rillian for a hug.

[Stay safe, Xilliam Wis,] Rillian rumbled.  [Force be with you.]

“Gods all protect you, ere the stars rain down,” Xilly replied.  Rillian wuffed politely, but inwardly she was baffled by the strange benediction.  Stars didn’t fall, they blew up.

“I didn’t realize you had been taught the war benedictions,” Tomas Fin said, returning with Licia.  “I think this is a very appropriate time for them.  Padawan Raallandirr?”

Rillian stepped forward, feeling the burn in her arms as she carefully took hold of Master Licia.  [You’re all right?] she rumbled under her breath, planting her feet to help balance the weight.  She was getting tired; best to save all her energy for the mad dash ahead.

Licia nodded.  “Well enough, dear.”

“You shall recover?” Fin asked Licia.

The Jedi Master smiled at him.  “I shall do my very best, Tomas.”

“Then I’m certain you will be well.”  Fin looked momentarily awkward.  “It would be a fine thing if you would visit us again, when this is all but a memory.”

Licia inclined her head.  “Perhaps Tholatin will be in need of a Watchman.”

“Rillian,” Qui-Gon said, and Rillian tightened her hold on Master Licia.  “Go, now.”

She turned and ran, refusing to look back.  Licia gasped once and then stayed silent, trying not to move.  Rillian sympathized with the woman, wanting to wince at every jostle, but there was no help for it.  Behind them, the speeder took off with a sharp whine of sudden acceleration.

Now was the time to draw on her own strength.  Rillian increased her speed, moment by moment, the skill of Force-assisted running something she had strived to master during their long stay on Kaazcint.  The scenery seemed to blur as she went.  She grinned at her own success; she hadn’t practiced running this way while carrying a full-sized adult!

Rillian forced herself to halt behind a squat building perched next to the back end of the landing field.  There were several ships available.  None of them looked the slightest bit familiar.

Also, there was the army of Chiss Rillian had been worried about.  It was a small army, perhaps twenty strong, but that was enough of a deterrent as far as she was concerned.

“Now we wait,” Licia murmured.  “Do you know your ships, Padawan?”

[Basics only,] Rillian answered, stepping back out of sight when one of the Chiss drifted close.

“Ah.”  Licia waited until Rillian dared to peer around the edge of the building again.  “When our chance arrives, you’ll want to go to the ship that is just to the left of the largest vessel.  It’s a variant on the Hyperion make.  Nice and simple to fly.  If you’ve done time in the simulators, you’ll be fine.”

Rillian nodded.  Simple was good.  Her experience in the simulators had taught her that she had the reflexes for basic piloting, but she was nowhere near Skywalker-level.  Then again, few beings were.

She also had an interesting collection of piloting memories from Master Obi-Wan, leftovers from the Sharing.  She just had never considered putting such things into practice.

 _I hope I will not be running any blockades_ , Rillian thought.  Judging by the sensation in her midsection, an entire flock of purple Naboo butterflies was trying to escape her stomach.

There was a very loud crash, several bangs, and then a satisfying explosion from the south end of the field.  Licia smiled.  “That would be our diversion,” she said, as the Chiss moved in a collective body towards the ruckus that Master Qui-Gon and Tomas Fin were causing.

Rillian clenched her jaw and resisted the very strong urge to howl in concern.  They weren’t going to get captured, or killed.  They were _not_.

She darted across the field the moment she was certain the Chiss were fully engaged elsewhere.  The ship that Master Licia had pointed out was not guarded, but the ramp was sealed.

[Now what?] Rillian asked, certain that it would be code-locked.  Sure enough, she noticed the keypad, covered in carbon scoring, with its alphanumerics almost invisible.

“Let me,” Licia murmured.  “Pull the front of the panel free, so that I can work with what’s underneath.”

Rillian grunted acknowledgement, doing a very careful juggling and balancing act so that she could rip the keypad free and not drop Licia in the process.  Then she stepped close to the ship, resting with her head against the ship’s hull so that Licia could work on the revealed wiring with both hands.  In less than a minute, the hatch was lowering with an angry-sounding pneumatic hiss.

[You’ve got to teach me how to do that,] Rillian said in admiration, hopping onto the ramp before it could fully lower.

Licia smiled, but the expression was tight.  Rillian caught sight of her shaking hands and felt awful.  If she was any sort of Padawan, she could have gotten them into the ship without taxing the injured Master’s strength.  She hit the seals at the top of the ramp, and fretted about their discovery until the ship’s hatch closed.

“No guilt, dearheart,” Licia told her sternly, as if she could sense Rillian’s feelings despite the inhibitor.  “And I will teach you when I am well.  Pickpocketing, however, will be taught with your Master’s permission _only_.”

Rillian grinned.  [Yes, Master Licia.]

Licia pointed the way to the cockpit; Rillian stepped inside and saw three stations, not the standard two or four that were built into most ships this size.  “Strap me into the co-pilot’s chair,” Licia said.  Rillian did so, tightening and adjusting the fit under Licia’s instruction until the woman was fully supported by the restraints.

Rillian sat down, figured out the maze of her own restraints, re-sized them to fit, and realized her heart was pounding.  [I’m so nervous,] she admitted in a low howl.

“Don’t be,” Licia told her, with a gentle smile.  “All will be well.  Trust in the Force, Padawan.”

[Trust in the Force,] Rillian agreed.  _Trust your instincts.  Remember your training._

_Let the Force flow through you._

Rillian let her concerns and fears go, centering on the task at hand.  Memories and training aligned with the Force, guiding her hands as she skipped through pre-flight checks on the Hyperion-based vessel.  The repulsors kicked in, lifting them off the ground with the barest hitch.  Rillian smiled.

Licia nodded her approval.  “Time to go.”

[Right,] Rillian said.  Just as her Master had instructed, she engaged the sublights, letting them burn.  The ship went up, fast and nimble, ready to do whatever Rillian told it.  She was aware that they were going to be pursued, but all she was concerned with right now was the rapidly approaching black of space.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Licia said, investigating her side of the control panel.  “According to this ship’s navcom, we can reach Coruscant in ten days.”

Rillian glanced at her in confusion.  [Ten days?  But I thought even our fastest vessels could only make the trip in twelve.]

“So did I.”  Licia smiled.  “I want our technophiles in the Temple to get a good look at this ship’s hyperdrive.  In the meantime, our course is set the moment you clear the gravity well, Padawan.”

[Yes, Master,] Rillian replied.  She glanced at the sensors.  Pursuit was indeed gaining on them, but if she was judging their speed accurately, they weren’t going to be in firing range in time.  [Can I keep this ship, Master Licia?]  The little Hyperion clone was _fast_.

Licia chuckled.  “I daresay you stole her fair and square, Padawan, but that’s up to the Council, not to me.”

They cleared the gravity well, with Rillian so immersed in what she was doing that she knew it before the ship’s instruments did.  With one last, regretful howl for those being left behind, she engaged the hyperdrive.

Rillian turned to Licia, who met her gaze with a haggard look on her face.  “And now, dearheart, I must teach you how to put someone into a hibernation trance.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Convincing Xilly to stay out of further trouble would be a waste of breath.  Qui-Gon suspected it would be easier to convince the moons not to rise.  Instead, he taught her the basics of piloting the landspeeder.  She was wary of him, at first, but quickly forgot her concern when he mentioned she was learning the basics of piloting _any_ craft.

“If she becomes a flight addict, I will know exactly who to blame,” Tomas Fin muttered in a low voice.

“But at least she will have the choice,” Qui-Gon countered, glad to see Xilly getting some joy out of this ordeal.

“That she will,” Fin replied, resolute.  While Xilly practiced at piloting, driving the speeder in slow circles around them with a gleeful look on her face, Tomas leaned in close to Qui-Gon’s side.  “If something happens to me, do not let her stay on this world.  It will mean nothing for her but a slow death.  Take her back to your Temple.  Even if a servant’s skills are all she has, at least your people will pay her for the work.”

“Xilly will be cared for, I promise you,” Qui-Gon said. 

Fin stared hard at him for a moment, and then nodded.  “Thank you.”

“The offer of sanctuary on Coruscant is open to you, as well,” Qui-Gon told him, as Xilly brought the speeder to a shuddering halt.  “Though I hope it is not an offer circumstances will force you to accept.”

Fin graced Qui-Gon with one of his faint smiles.  “I appreciate both sentiments.”

Xilly agreed to her assignment with a set, narrow-lipped look.  She was to be their rescue once the diversion was accomplished, but would otherwise be safe and out of the way, a plan that Tomas Fin whole-heartedly approved of.

Qui-Gon pointed at the running lights on the speeder.  “When these lights turn on, that is the signal to come retrieve us.” 

Xilly looked puzzled, and then her eyes widened.  “With the Force, right?  That’s how you’ll turn them on.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said.  “And this is the part you will not like.  If those lights never turn on, do _not_ attempt to rescue us.”

Xilly scowled.  “You had better not get captured.  I wouldn’t be able to save you!”

 _Ah, realism_ , Qui-Gon thought, amused.  “That’s very sensible.”

“What can I do, instead?” she asked.

“What you will do is wait, watch, and listen.  If all goes well, Rillian and Master Licia will be on their way to Coruscant, able to tell everyone what has happened here.  If no one hears from us by the time the next drop transport arrives, the other Jedi will realize there is trouble and send help.  When those new Jedi arrive, you will be able to tell them what you know, and thus help with our rescue, after all.”

“But none of that is going to happen, because we’re going to do this right the first time,” Tomas Fin insisted, crossing his arms. 

Things did go well, at first.  Xilly gained confidence in piloting the speeder as they flew to the landing field.  She dropped Qui-Gon and Tomas at the field’s edge before flying off to hide with the speeder, several kilometers away.

He and Fin split up, heading for opposite edges of the field.  Fin found crated supplies on age-faded pallets, most of it balanced in precarious piles.  It was the work of only moments to overturn the lot of it to create a horrendous crash.

That certainly got the Chiss’s attention, but Qui-Gon wanted to ensure that _everyone_ came to this side of the field, away from the cluster of ships to the west.  Barrels of fuel and grease made convenient, easy targets.  He separated two fuel drums and a grease canister from the stack, flinging all three items into the air and setting off the necessary spark with a thought.

The resulting explosion flattened Qui-Gon against the earth.  He blinked up at the sky in pure astonishment.  Sand rained down on his face; his ears were filled with the peal of a thousand bells.  “That was _not_ standard fuel,” he said aloud, and heard only the faintest echo of his own words.

He climbed to his feet just in time to be confronted by the first group of Chiss, who looked as shocked as he felt.  “What did you _do_?” the closest one shouted.  He had his blaster in-hand, but not aimed very well; he looked just as flabbergasted as Qui-Gon felt.

Qui-Gon shook his head, trying to recover the rest of his hearing and shut up those damned bells.  “What the hell is in those barrels?”

“Shipping fuel!” the Chiss retorted, as four more of his brethren joined the first three.

“Sith _hells_ that’s all it is,” Qui-Gon shot back, taking his lightsaber from his belt and igniting it.  “But, at least it was an effective diversion.”

 _“Teebi f’ri Jeedai!”_ one of the new Chiss blurted.

“A distraction, what—” The first Chiss’s jaw dropped as Rillian’s chosen ship blasted off.  It ascended near-vertically as she let the sublights burn at full power, and almost knocked them all right back down onto the ground in the process.

“Qui-Gon!” Fin yelled.

“Excuse me,” Qui-Gon said, and darted from the Chiss in a Force-enhanced sprint while they were all staring up at the retreating ship.

Tomas Fin was on the ground, staring up at five Chiss of his own.  Qui-Gon halted at his side, giving him a quick hand-up.  “Shall we go?” Fin asked.

Qui-Gon looked at the Chiss, who were alternatively aiming blasters at them and asking for instructions via comm.  There was something…something intriguing going on.  “No, not yet,” he said, which was not the answer Fin had expected to hear.  “Trust me,” Qui-Gon continued in a soft voice.  “I think this is exactly where we need to be.”

Tomas Fin did not look convinced.  “If you get me killed, I promise I am most effective at hauntings.”

The Chiss had been arguing in what Qui-Gon assumed to be their own language, as it was not one he could recall hearing before.  Then the central Chiss raised his blaster.  “I know how to clean up this mess,” he snarled in Basic—

—And someone else fired first.  The Chiss who’d tried to shoot at Qui-Gon and Tomas Fin dropped to the ground face-first, revealing a smoking hole in his upper back.

There was a new group of Chiss standing a few meters away, uniformed men who had not been present during their original diversion.  The one in the lead was holding a blaster pistol, but it was pointed up, now, not at anyone present.  He was definitely the ranking officer, given how quickly everyone deferred to him.

The officer gave the other Chiss a cool, appraising glance, ignoring Qui-Gon and Fin.  “Congratulate me, for I have just stopped the Jedi Order and the Republic from declaring war on Tholatin,” he said in a dry voice.  There was a restless shuffle from the Chiss surrounding him, and the group that had cornered Fin started to look uncomfortable.

“I am not pleased at being forced to come to this backwater to clean up someone else’s mess,” the uniformed Chiss continued, his tone turning just as glacial as his expression.  “Where is Commander Rebbr’aili’nall?”

 _“Crahsystor, chebru ka’no—”_ one of the non-uniformed Chiss started, but their leader shook his head.

“We have guests.  In Basic, please, those of you who can speak it,” he instructed, with a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Ah—yes, sir,” the chastised Chiss almost quailed before pulling himself together.  “No one has seen Commander Rebbr’aili’nall since last night, after he went in pursuit of whoever retrieved the prisoner.”

Qui-Gon fought the urge to smile.  “My Padawan left your commander tied to his Tholate friend in a scrub forest, a few kilometers south of the _da_ Ere estate.”

“Your Padawan.”  The lead Chiss seemed to sigh.  “How old is your student?”

“She is not yet fourteen Standard.”

The Chiss holstered his blaster.  “Bested by a child.  I knew he was incompetent, but even I did not believe him that incapable.  They are away?” he asked, glancing at another black-garbed officer.

“ _Gradi, Crahsystor.  Bre’hin en welbellin’tin._ ”

“They are well on their way to Coruscant by now,” Qui-Gon felt it prudent to add.

The Chiss commander muttered something unintelligible under his breath.  “That will certainly make things interesting,” he said, and glowered at his men.  “Go clean up the mess our guests made of the landing field.  There are things that we must discuss.”

“But—sir.  Commander Rebbr’aili’nall ordered us to capture the Jedi, and Second Fin—” The non-uniformed officer took a step back when the commander turned his unflinching stare upon him.

“In case it has escaped your notice, Rebbr’aili’nall is no longer in charge here.”  The ranking Chiss gestured with his hand.  “Go.”

Tomas Fin gave the commander a wary look as the other Chiss went to do as ordered.  “Are we rescued, or is this a temporary stay of execution?”

The Chiss man gave vent to an elegant snort.  “Second Councilor Fin, I do believe I have just demonstrated that your execution would cause more problems, not solve them.”

“You are a man who fixes such troubles, then?” Qui-Gon asked, curious. 

“Not usually,” the Chiss replied.  “You are the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn?”

“I am.”

“We should never have met,” the commander said bluntly.  “But as it is now fact:  I am Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo.  I lead Picket Force Two of the Expansionary Fleet of the Chiss Ascendancy.”

Tomas frowned.  “Is this a military coup?”

“No.”  Mitth’raw’nuruodo shook his head.  “Rebbr’aili’nall was meant to…ah, your expression would be, ‘maintain the status quo.’  Your Jedi representative was supposed to be encouraged to depart with a failed treaty.  Rebbr’aili’nall was _not_ to take prisoners, was _not_ supposed to start dabbling in local politics.”  The annoyance in the Chiss’s voice was clear.  “When it became obvious that his actions had attracted more agents of the Republic, I was dispatched to correct the situation.”

“Then Tholatin is part of your Chiss Ascendancy,” Qui-Gon said, though in truth he was unsurprised.  It coincided with what he had already seen.  “And for some reason, you do not want that known.”

“Correct.”  The Chiss gestured towards one of the pre-fab buildings in the center of the landing field.  “Come with me, Master Jinn; Councilor Fin.  We will speak, and there is a meal if you wish to partake.  You need not worry that I would be so uncivilized as to sprinkle it with poison.”

“But the civilized man knows that words can be just as effective,” Qui-Gon countered, meeting the Chiss’s glowing red gaze.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo nodded his approval, offering him a thin-lipped smile.  “Indeed.”

“Should we send for Xilly?” Fin asked, still looking askance at the Chiss commander.

Qui-Gon considered the Force, listening to his instincts.  Their danger did seem to be over with—for now, at least.  If a new threat arose, he suspected it would not come from Mitth’raw’nuruodo.  “Yes.  Is there room for one more at your table, Commander?”

The Chiss nodded.  “The other child you travel with is welcome, and will be safe.  I do not kill the young when it can be avoided.”

“Guilt?” Fin asked, sharp-eyed.

“I despise waste,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo countered smoothly. 

Xilly piloted the speeder to the landing field so fast that Qui-Gon suspected she had been frantic about their survival.  When she saw that they were not harmed, but in strange company, she parked the speeder but approached with the same hesitant steps that had marked her introduction to Qui-Gon and Tomas Fin early that morning.

“It’s safe,” Fin called to Xilly.  Then he made a face.  “Well, safe enough.”

“Hello,” Xilly said cautiously, looking up at the Chiss.  “Sorry I hit your friend with a rock.”  Fin uttered a sound that could have been a quickly muffled laugh. 

“He is not my friend, and from what I have been told, he deserved it.”  Mitth’raw’nuruodo raised an eyebrow as he looked at her.  “Interesting.  You are caste, but wear no hood.”

Xilly narrowed her eyes.  “If I’m not wearing it for them,” she jerked a thumb at Qui-Gon and Tomas, “then I won’t wear it for you, either.”

To their surprise, the commander smiled.  “Good.  You should submit to no one, child.”   

 

*          *          *          *

 

“We are not invaders,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo told them, sitting at the head of a table.  “Though I am certain it must seem that way to Councilor Fin.”  There was a meal, as promised, even if most of what was presented was unrecognizable.  Qui-Gon had tasted some of the food offered out of curiosity; Fin had only accepted water.  Xilly alternated between terrified looks at all the Chiss, and cramming her face with anything deemed edible.

“We claimed this sector many centuries ago, noting habitable planets.  Two have sentient species on them that are still evolving.  One planet is in the middle of a clean industrial revolution, and may be ready for contact soon.  Then there is Ghree’han—what you call Tholatin.  At that time, it was empty, and thus was added to the colonization list.”  The Chiss’s lips twitched in what could have been a smile.  “Imagine our surprise when scout patrols noted that it had been settled ahead of schedule.”

“The original colonists arrived three hundred years ago.  Why not inform them at the beginning that they were now a part of your Ascendancy?” Qui-Gon asked.

The commander’s mouth quirked again, but this time his distaste was obvious.  “When observing the Tholates, it quickly became clear that their society fell far below acceptable standards of conduct.  It was decided that we would keep watch, and when the Tholates were capable of behaving like civilized beings…”  Mitth’raw’nuruodo shook his head.  “Currently, they are not even capable of meeting the standards for enrollment into your Republic, and your terms for membership are _lax_ compared to ours.”

 _Judgmental, but realistic_ , Qui-Gon surmised.  It had not taken him long to deduce that their host was still a young man, given to stronger sentiments than his position might allow for.  However, Mitth’raw’nuruodo was also highly intelligent.  Qui-Gon could see it in the way he kept cataloging their actions, no matter how minute or insignificant, and adjusting his reactions to Qui-Gon and Fin accordingly.  Obi-Wan did the same thing, and woe befell anyone who underestimated _him._

“There have been obvious downsides to this secret being kept,” Fin pointed out.

“The petitions to the Republic, yes,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo admitted.  “The first one was disrupted without difficulty.  The second petition did not require our interference for it to fall apart.”

“And this one?”  Fin stared at the Chiss, his gaze and posture just shy of challenging.  “I am being charitable in assuming that the kidnapping of the Republic ambassador was an event not sanctioned by your government.”

The commander narrowed his eyes in anger, but it was not an emotion directed at his guests.  “Rebbr’aili’nall is a fool who decided he knew how to best handle the situation, despite specific orders not to interfere unless it became necessary.  Your fellow Tholatins must remain unaware of us, as should the Republic.  The Ascendancy has no desire to be recognized by your government, the Jedi, or anyone else.”

Qui-Gon frowned.  “That does leave you with a bit of a quandary.”

“Knowledge of Chiss presence traveling to the Republic ensures that we must resort to politics here.  I despise such games; I prefer efficiency over wordplay.”  The commander’s expression became the glacial mask he had presented to the other Chiss outside.  “Make no mistake:  Had I arrived before you and your student, there would have been no trace of your missing Ambassador.  If I had arrived in time to stop you before your companions escaped offworld, we would likewise not be having this conversation.”

Fin glanced at Qui-Gon.  “You and I need to have a talk about your definition of safe.”

Qui-Gon half-smiled.  “Mitth’raw’nuruodo has said himself that we are ensured against further actions taken by the Chiss, Tomas.  Safety granted under duress is still preferable to safety offered under false pretenses.”

The commander tilted his head, the ice melting back into studied neutrality.  “Spoken like one who plays the game with _astocracia_ often.  Did you know, Master Jinn, that you are unique among Republic citizens for not asking me for a shorter name?”

“You did not offer one,” Qui-Gon replied, matching the Chiss for expression and tone.

Their host laughed, short and sharp.  “I think I like you, and trust me, I do not care for many.”

“No, I imagine you shoot most of them,” Fin murmured.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo ignored him.  “I will tell you something I would otherwise not have told you.  The Sith your Republic seeks, the one called Sidious—I met him, five years ago.”

Qui-Gon did not flinch, but his spine stiffened at the very mention of the Sith’s name.  “That seems most fortuitous.”

“It was a very peculiar event,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo agreed.  “He was appealing to the Ascendancy for a future alliance against…certain enemies.  No decision was made, but Sidious made it clear that his offer had no time limit.  His presence was all the more curious for the fact that he made a point of seeking me out.”

 _Curious, indeed._   “Did he say why?”

“No.  He was not specific, but Sidious did make comments about a desire to allow me the means to use my abilities to their full potential.”  The Chiss looked amused.  “As if I could be swayed by pretty words.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head.  “I appreciate your telling me this.  Even that may be enough to help us defeat him.”

“Must he be defeated, then?” Mitth’raw’nuruodo asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

“I think he may well attempt to tear the galaxy apart if he is not.”  Qui-Gon glanced down the table; Xilly had fallen asleep, and was resting with her head pillowed on her crossed arms.  He was grateful for that, as the young girl found her current circumstances alarming enough without adding Sith to the situation.

“An interesting assumption.  I would not recommend allowing your government’s fervor for tracking a single man blind you to the threats that may arise from other directions.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “And is the Ascendancy a threat to the Republic?”

Mitth’raw’nuruodo smiled.  “Of course not.  As I said, we are not invaders.  We are, however, rather fierce about protecting what is ours…which brings us back to our current difficulty.  With news of Tholatin’s true affiliation going to Coruscant, I am in need of a solution that best caters to the needs of all parties, Ambassador.”

“Fine.  Leave us the hell out of your Ascendancy,” Tomas suggested.

“Not an option,” the Chiss replied.  “The next time your people plan to settle on a seemingly empty world, make certain it does not already belong to someone else.”

Fin offered the commander a brief, wolfish grin.  “I had to try.”

Qui-Gon rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand.  The Tholatins would not stop with a third failed petition.  Without knowledge of the Chiss, the Council would try again, and this entire mess would repeat itself.   Unless…

“Dual membership,” he said, while mentally reviewing hundreds of lines of ancient law.  Yes, that could definitely work.

“Is that…legal?” Fin asked.  Mitth’raw’nuruodo said nothing; he gazed at Qui-Gon expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

“There is room in the original Republic bylaws that state a planet or system can have more than one affiliation, as long as those affiliations do not conflict with each other,” Qui-Gon explained, still running the process through his head.  No one was going to be pleased with this, but the best compromises were often great big blasted headaches, anyway.  “The Hapan Consortium was once a prime example, before they withdrew their membership.”

 “That still leaves the difficulty of avoiding Republic recognition, does it not?” Mitth’raw’nuruodo asked.  It was a very interesting sensation, having the Chiss commander’s undivided attention.

“No.  Not if they become an autonomous member,” Qui-Gon said.  “Tholatin would gain membership in the Republic, but not direct representation.  Tholatin’s distance from the Core means that a certain level of independence is expected; this just would go a few steps beyond that.  It still means that requests for trade and trade routes can be directed through the Republic-aligned guilds, gaining the Tholatin people faster and more reliable access to goods and services.”

“And the catch?” Fin wanted to know, looking almost as intent as the Chiss.

“The caste system must still be dissolved, which is our greatest stumbling point.  Without the need for elected representation for the Galactic Senate, Tholatin membership would only need to be confirmed by myself, the Tholatin Prelate, a representative of the Chiss Ascendancy—” Qui-Gon nodded at Mitth’raw’nuruodo— “the Supreme Chancellor, Vice Chancellor, and representative members of the Jedi Council.  The completed petition would then be able to go on record under a privacy seal.  Tholatin would be expected to settle their own affairs except in extreme circumstances.”

“And the circumstances are?”

“Invasion,” Qui-Gon said, and Fin looked amused.  “Global pandemic.  Extinction-level events, if Tholatin has not yet developed the means to respond, or—worst-case scenario—evacuate the planet without assistance.”

“That is a longer list of beings than we would prefer to being alerted to our existence,” the Chiss commander said thoughtfully.  “But, it does eliminate further concerns for Republic petitions and interference of a non-trade-based nature.”

“I am only a Second, not the Prelate, but I am…not opposed to this arrangement.  It would mean that the Prelate would need to have continued knowledge of the dual membership, yes?”

“To avoid further conflict, it would be wise, yes,” Qui-Gon answered Fin.

“Those you mentioned:  your Republic Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor.  They would keep this secret?” Mitth’raw’nuruodo asked.  When Qui-Gon nodded, he said, “And your Jedi Council is known for its discretion?”

Qui-Gon smiled.  “Believe me, you would be hard-pressed to find a more inscrutable group of beings.  If they can keep a single number from my spouse’s ears for almost five years, they can most certainly guarantee the silence of this arrangement.”

“Your spouse.”  Mitth’raw’nuruodo regarded him with renewed interest.  “Obi-Wan Kenobi.  It was not just a silly rumor that you had wed, after all.”

“I didn’t realize you would know his name,” Qui-Gon replied, feeling disconcerted.  Obi-Wan was famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) but Qui-Gon hadn’t known that those tales were carrying so far outside Republic space.

“I make it a point to study significant militaristic accomplishments.  The Yinchorri Uprising captured my interest in following your spouse’s work,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said.  “Knight Kenobi ended a war that, by all strategic accounts, should have raged for months.  Not only was that impressive, but the creation of a Yinchorri fleet to supplement your police force—in essence, strengthening your military—was particularly masterful.  Enhancing the strengths and talents of a race, while yoking their desire for retributive action…”  The Chiss shook his head in admiration.  “Brilliant.”

Amused, Qui-Gon said, “The Republic doesn’t have a military.”

Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s eyes glimmered.  “More fool you, then.”  He leaned back in his chair.  “Very well.  I will speak to my people, but I can assure you that the solution you have presented will be acceptable.”

“Well, that’s good,” Fin said, a bitter smile on his face.  “Now all we have to do is figure out what the hell Kalin Fel thought he was up to, elect a new Prelate, and bully him or her into accepting the dual membership terms _and_ dissolving the caste system.  That should be easy.”

“Everything else has gone smoothly enough; why not this?” Qui-Gon countered, and Fin glared at him.

“I might be able to help you with that,” the Chiss said.

 

*          *          *          *

 

They left Xilly in the Garden of Souls, though she didn’t seem able to decide whether she should protest being left behind, or if she was grateful to be kept out of it.  Qui-Gon made sure that Fin’s niece had all of the stolen credits and ration bars.  He didn’t think anything was going to go wrong, but better to be prepared for the worst, while hoping for the best.

“And we’re just strolling in, bold as brass,” Tomas Fin murmured, as they walked through the capital building in Lakat-sti.  They were spotted by several guards, all of whom ignored them.

It was when they stood before the door to the Round Room that they understood why.

Jamin Ree smiled at them, insouciant and marked with blossoming bruises on his face and hands.  “Silly of them, to think I could be redirected so easily.  Nobody stationed today will lift a finger at you, Second Fin.”

“I find your presence to be of great relief,” Fin replied gravely.  “You’re all right, Guardsman?”

“The others don’t look nearly so pretty today as I do,” Jamin Ree said with a grin.  “I imagine you liked having the Garden to yourselves last night, too.”

That explained why no one had ventured near the cemetery, even with Rillian’s rather obvious landspeeder approach.  “Thank you, Jamin,” Qui-Gon said.

“And you, Master Jinn,” Jamin Ree returned.  “Congress is in session.  Are you about to go in there and clean up this mess?”

“We are, indeed.”

The guardsman’s smile became fierce.  “Good,” he said, and opened the doors for them.

As they walked down the stairs, the standard shouting in the Round Room dissolved into mutters and whispers, and then, eventually, silence.  Kalin Fel was sitting in the Prelate’s chair; both of the Second chairs were empty. 

Kalin Fel stood up, starting to smile.  “Master Jinn, it is good to see you again.  Thank you for bringing this escaped criminal to jus—”

“Be quiet,” Qui-Gon said.  He did not yell, but then, he did not have to.  Fel stopped talking, his eyes widening in surprise at such a brusque response to his greeting.  “I have several things I wish to say.”

“But of course,” Lady Tha Nak spoke, to Qui-Gon’s surprise.  “Speak, Ambassador.”

Qui-Gon nodded, but he directed his words to Kalin Fel.  “I wondered, yesterday, why you were so quick to judge Tomas Fin guilty of murdering Prelate Tai.”  His voice carried throughout the chamber.  “It was common practice for either of you to debrief the Prelate after a session of congress, after all, and thus it could just as easily have been you found standing over Sonun Tai’s body.”

Qui-Gon allowed his voice to harden.  “Of course, you were quick to accuse your fellow Second, because it was actually you who murdered Prelate Tai.”

There was a startled uproar from the other Councilors, and above it all, Kalin Fel shouting, “That’s utterly _ridiculous!_   Master Jinn, you know Tomas Fin’s history.  The man was almost instrumental in ensuring your death during our last, horrid war.  Surely you know that his ilk do not change!”

“On the contrary, I have found that people are always changing, always evolving.”  He gave Kalin Fel a cold stare.   Oh, did he understand how quickly—and how much—people could change.  Qui-Gon pulled out the listening device, the single one he had kept from the room where Tomas had been imprisoned.  He hooked it up to his datapad so that the file could play on speaker, highlighting the guards’ confession that they had been bribed or threatened into disposing of Second Fin.

The mutterings came back.  No one was overly surprised by what they heard, Qui-Gon could tell.  Such power plays were still fairly common on Tholatin.  It was not enough evidence to sway opinion, but it was not yet meant to be.  Everyone was listening to him, now, just as he wanted.

“With Tomas Fin dead, you would have been spared the inconvenience of a trial.  That would be a fortunate circumstance for you, once cooler heads had prevailed.  The damning lack of further evidence against him would mean that Fin might have been found innocent.”

Kalin Fel was frowning, but he did not yet look concerned.  “This is all circumstantial evidence, at best.  I am surprised you have fallen for it, Master Jinn.  My father thought you were more sensible than this.”

“Mmm.”  Qui-Gon made a noise of agreement, hiding a smile.  He had known it wouldn’t take long for Fel to make mention of the old alliance.  “Funny how circumstantial evidence was enough for you to condemn Tomas Fin, but it is not good enough for use against you.  No matter.

“Tell me, Kalin Fel:  Haven’t you wondered why your offworld allies have not yet contacted you today?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kalin Fel said, but the first hints of alarm were starting to fill his eyes.  Out of the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon noticed that Tha Nak was quietly moving closer to the Prelate’s chair.

This time, Qui-Gon made sure to glance around the room as he spoke.  “Second Kalin Fel has been consorting with offworlders to further his own ends.  It was by his hand that the first Republic Ambassador was kidnapped and held prisoner on the _da_ Ere estate.  He did this in exchange for the promise that the means would be provided for Kalin Fel to become Prelate in Sonun Tai’s place.”

“Preposterous!” Kalin Fel tried to say, but this time the rumble of anger from the other Councilors drowned him out.

Tomas Fin placed a small holographic cube—a gift from Mitth’raw’nuruodo—onto the floor, in the clear space just before the Second chairs.  He activated it by pressing on the top, stepping back quickly as the holo began to play.

The display was easily three meters high, clearly visible to everyone inside the Round Room.  Kalin Fel was in the holo, standing with the offworlder in question.  The images had been doctored so that the Chiss involved looked humanoid, and thus still obviously not of Tholatin’s human population.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo had been amused by Rebbr’aili’nall’s practice of recording all of his meetings, official and clandestine.  Such a foolish habit certainly came in handy right now.

 _“And how is our guest doing?”_ the projected Kalin Fel asked.

The Chiss called Rebbr’aili’nall, still black-haired but otherwise very human-appearing, smiled in response. _“The Ambassador is well.  Unless you feel it is time for that to change?”_

Fel nodded. _“The replacement ambassador arrived today.  I have to be honest, I didn’t think they would send Master Jinn.  He knows more about our ways than I am comfortable with.  I think it’s time to ready our agreed-upon disposal method for Master Licia.”_

 _“Then I will pull the nutrient lines the moment I return to your estate,”_ Rebbr’aili’nall said. _“Are you certain you wish to proceed with the next step?”_

 _“Tai is far too easy to manipulate.  Tholatin needs stronger leadership than that,”_ Fel replied. _“You have the toxin?”_

 _“I do.  And something else, as well,”_ Rebbr’aili’nall said.  He pulled out a tiny phial, no larger than a child’s thumb. _“Not only is this almost immediately lethal, it has been combined with a gift from a potential ally.  Your newest Jedi representative will not be able to detect Prelate Tai’s fate.”_

The Tholatin Councilors were on their feet, now.  The noise in the room was horrendous.

As the holocube shut down, Qui-Gon had almost two seconds to consider the event about to unfold.  Allow it to happen in public?  Or wait, when it would inevitably take place in the quiet of a cell?  The first, he realized, would have more lasting ramifications for Tholatin…most of them beneficial.

Qui-Gon sighed, and did not interfere when Tha Nak stood up behind the acting Prelate and stabbed Kalin Fel in the back with a long knife.  It was an effective strike, spearing the man’s heart.

Kalin Fel, his eyes wide and shocked, slumped to the floor.  Tha Nak gave his dying body a withering, disgusted glare.  “I absolutely despise traitors,” she hissed.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“I hope you do not expect _me_ to become Prelate,” Tomas Fin said.

They were alone in the Round Room, some hours later.  It had not been easy to clear out the enraged Councilors, but removing Kalin Fel’s body had helped to direct their tempers elsewhere.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo had slipped into the capital building much as Rillian had snuck out—clothed in the white hood of the caste.  After some consideration, Qui-Gon introduced Lady Tha Nak to their Chiss ally.  She had listened to the terms of the new petition in intrigued silence.

It was only Qui-Gon’s third evening on Tholatin, and even two days ago he would not have believed what he was about to suggest.  “No, Tomas.  I actually think that Lady Nak should be your Prelate.”

Both Tomas Fin and Tha Nak gave him equally disbelieving looks.  It was the Chiss who approved.  “The Lady Nak does have the brutality that seems to be necessary to keep order on Ghree’han.  Especially if you are going to be dissolving a social structure.”

Tha Nak frowned.  “I still do not want to see the caste system dissolved.  It serves a vital purpose.”

“Dissolving the caste system will result in temporary chaos.  The benefits in the long term far outweigh the inconvenience you would experience now,” Qui-Gon said, and then narrowed his eyes.  “All it will take to sway the vote is your voice, Lady Nak.  You _will_ call for the dissolution of the caste system, or this petition fails.  Not only that, I will personally ensure that no further petitions from Tholatin will ever again be heard by the Republic.”

“You have the power to make such decisions?” Tha Nak asked in surprise.

“Of course I do,” Qui-Gon said, and suddenly he felt so very tired of all of this.  “I am an ambassador of the Republic, one who has just seen my fellow ambassador returned to Coruscant in failing health due to the action—or inaction—of several of Tholatin’s leaders.  I am no longer in the mood for Tholatin games.”

After a moment, Tha Nak gave him a slow nod.  “I apologize for every poisoning attempt I’ve subjected you to.”

Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s eyebrows lifted.  “Multiple poisoning attempts?  How did you avoid such a thing, Master Jinn?”

Tha Nak looked amused.  “Avoid it?  No, Commander, you are mistaken.  The Ambassador would smile at me, and then he would _drink_ it.”

“And yet, you kept trying,” Qui-Gon said.

She sniffed, lifting her chin.  “A lady must keep up appearances.  Speaking of ladies, I did enjoy Ambassador Licia’s spirited discussions.  Will she live, Master Jinn?”

“I don’t yet know,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “I won’t find out until she and my Padawan return to Coruscant, but that is at least fourteen days from now.”

“Ten days,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo corrected him.  “If they relied on the navigational path already programmed into the computer of the ship they borrowed, that is.”

Qui-Gon glanced at him.  “Our fastest ships can only make the trip to Coruscant in twelve days from Tholatin.”

The Chiss smiled.  “I am aware of that.”

“Then we have a short amount of time in which to make this work,” Tha Nak said, “as a dead Ambassador will not endear us to the Republic.” 

Qui-Gon nodded.  Tha Nak’s reasoning was cold, but sound, and Licia wanted the petition to succeed, no matter her fate.  He wanted this finished, also.  “Second Fin, what do you say?  This will only work if you support her, Tomas.”

Tomas Fin sighed.  “I will agree to it, then, as long as she never threatens my niece.  It’s hard to politically support a dead woman.”

Tha Nak looked curious.  “It was my understanding that you had no remaining family, Tomas.”

“No one ever saw fit to inform me that my wife’s family, House _da_ Hurun, had been made caste,” Fin said, giving Tha Nak a cold stare.  “I found her among the servants of Lakat-sti.  So you see, I have a special interest in making certain that you oversee the dissolution of the caste system.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Xilly—Xilliam Wis—no longer wore white, a change Tomas had insisted upon even before the caste vote.  She did not attend sessions of congress, either, and when Qui-Gon could escape the endless meetings that were reshaping Tholatin society, he found her wandering the capital building, looking utterly lost.

“Uncle Tomas won’t let me work,” Xilly confessed two days after Kalin Fel’s death, sitting down with Qui-Gon on a bench in one of the long hallways.  “I’ve never _not_ worked.  So I just walk around, and look at things, and if I’m not careful I start cleaning them anyway because I’m so _bored!_ ”

“What would you like to do?” Qui-Gon asked.

Xilly looked up at him.  “Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I never would,” Qui-Gon promised.

“I like stories,” Xilly said, and ducked her head as if she were still trying to hide under a hood.  “Making them up, and sometimes telling them, like when I was trying to keep the kids working so they wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“That is a very admirable profession,” Qui-Gon said.  “I happen to like stories, myself.”

“But I can’t read,” Xilly admitted in a mumble.  “Or write.  So I can’t…you know.”

“Well, then.”  Qui-Gon smiled.  “We’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”

He enjoyed teaching Xilly how to read, and how to draw the first, careful lines of the Aurebesh alphabet.  He spent time with her between meetings, and in the evenings, when there was otherwise little more to do than fret over Rillian and Licia, or dwell on the best methods of presenting the new petition to the Republic.  Xilly was a fast learner, and as her confidence grew, Qui-Gon began to see more of the young woman who had willingly, fearlessly allied herself with a Jedi Padawan.

It was almost ludicrous, how easy it was to get Lady Tha Nak elected Prelate.  She had her own political allies, yes, but her slaying of Kalin Fel quickly became a tale of the heroic defense of Tholatin against unwanted outside influence.  Considering they were a planet in the middle of becoming part of a galactic governing body, Qui-Gon found it teeth-grindingly annoying that the Tholatins did not see the inherent hypocrisy.

The vote to dissolve the caste system did indeed sway in their favor, with Tha Nak lending her voice to the process.  A voting percentage of sixty/forty was not the best Qui-Gon could have hoped for, but it was enough.

Tha Nak and Tomas Fin made very effective political allies, though in private they fought like rabid cats.  If Nak and Fin could get through the first year without poisoning or stabbing each other, Qui-Gon would then be ready to call their alliance a success.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo remained known only to Qui-Gon, Tomas Fin, Prelate Tha Nak, and to the new Second, Salar Yue of House _da_ Welsi.  The Chiss was waiting in Qui-Gon’s room when he arrived that evening, and only when Qui-Gon had sealed the door did he remove the white hood that shrouded his features.

“That’s not going to work for much longer, you know,” Qui-Gon reminded him, removing his own cloak and hanging it on a peg mounted in the wall.

“Then my timing is fortunate,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said.  “I have received word from my people.  The way is now clear for your dual membership petition to be heard by the Republic.  I will stand with you, as a chosen, temporary ambassador for the Ascendancy.”

Qui-Gon smiled.  “And you are still willing to let us use your ship’s holographic transmission system?”

The Chiss nodded.  “The _Springhawk_ will be the most efficient choice, given that Tholatin’s communications tend to be…crude.  I would rather see the faces of those the petition will be given to.”

“So would I,” Qui-Gon murmured.  He had sent the data burst announcing the petition’s intent that morning.  Force knew how the news was being taken by Finis, or by the Council.

Or by Obi-Wan, who was on the Council.  That was going to be an odd moment.

“It has been an interesting few days, watching these events unfold,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said.  “Perhaps Tholatin will be worthy of the Ascendancy sooner than it was originally believed.”

Qui-Gon thought about it.  “I’d give it a few decades.  They can be a bit erratic.”

The Chiss’s polite smile was definitely a concealed smirk.  “I had noticed that, yes.”

When the evening meal came, Mitth’raw’nuruodo remained out of sight until the servant went away, and then joined Qui-Gon at the table when Qui-Gon waved his hand in invitation.  “Still hooded, that one.”

“It will take some getting used to, for everyone, I imagine,” Qui-Gon said.  “Tea?”

The commander frowned.  “Is it poisoned?”  He was still very quietly unsettled by Qui-Gon’s usual means of poison-disposal.

“Not today,” Qui-Gon replied serenely.  “But the stuffed meat might not be to your taste.  It’s very bitter.”

“No, thank you,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said, but he did accept the tea.  “There is something you wish to discuss with me.”

“There is,” Qui-Gon admitted.  He had not announced any such thing, but then, as he’d recognized earlier, the Chiss commander was very intelligent.  “There is a young boy in our Temple creche who is Chiss.  He was found as an infant in the escape pod of a ship that was destroyed in Republic space, four years ago.  I wondered if you could send word to his family that he survived.”

Mitth’raw’nuruodo looked surprised.  Qui-Gon suspected he was not startled very often.  “I can, perhaps, make the attempt.  What is his name?”

“According to the Jedi Master who found him, the pod’s computer announced his name as Nuru Kungurama.”

The Chiss looked pained.  “You have utterly butchered his name.  Nuru, indeed.  His name is Kung’urama’nuruodo.”

“Nuruodo?” Qui-Gon repeated.  Now it was his turn to be surprised.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo nodded.  “He is family, yes.”  He paused.  “A cousin of my line, raised as a Jedi.  The stigma will shame us all.”

“That seems to be a rehearsed statement, not a belief,” Qui-Gon noted, sipping his tea.  Its quality was dubious, at best.

“Some will care.  I do not,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said.  “Entrenched in a foreign philosophy or not, he is being raised well, which is more than most of my blood can hope to accomplish.” 

He took a drink of the tea, set it aside.  “I have spoken to Rebbr’aili’nall,” he said, changing the subject.  Qui-Gon allowed it; he had the feeling that family was a sore subject for the commander.  “Or, perhaps, I suppose I should say that he was convinced to speak with me.”

“Did he have anything interesting to say?” Qui-Gon asked.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo smiled.  “He has no love for your student,” he said, and then sobered.  “I have…concerns of my own, now, about your enemy.  The inhibitor that you mentioned, the one that bound Master Licia’s abilities—it seems that Rebbr’aili’nall accepted it as a gift from Sidious.  The Sith told Rebbr’aili’nall that he would one day use it on a Jedi, for the betterment of the Chiss people.”

“And that toxin too, I imagine,” Qui-Gon guessed, feeling cold fingers dance up his spine.  Five years ago, the Sith had gone to the Chiss—after Taro Tre, when he would have had memories both old and new.  Did Sidious know, then, that he would be causing Qui-Gon to return to Tholatin?  Or was the Sith merely using what means he had to ensure that at least one Jedi perished on the planet? 

The Chiss frowned.  “I do not consider what has happened on Tholatin to be to our betterment.  I do not like being manipulated in such a crude manner.  I will be advising my people to carefully consider any bargains this Sidious tries to make.”

“They had been considering otherwise, then?”

“We were much closer to affirmation than rejection, yes,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said.  “The Chiss have allied with the Sith before, to our benefit, but it has been more than a millennia since that time.”

“From what my spouse has studied, not all Sith concerned themselves with evil ends,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “However, Sidious is…tricky.  While it is not my place to advise you against such alliances, I am still glad to hear of your willingness to be cautious.”

“Hmm.”  The Chiss sat with him for several more minutes in companionable silence.  “Master Jinn, my…cousin, Kung’urama’nuruodo.  In the Core worlds, you would call him Guraman.”

“Guraman,” Qui-Gon murmured under his breath.  “I will be glad to tell him that a cousin of his line has granted him his true name,” he said aloud.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo held his hand out across the table.  “I am Thrawn, Master Jinn.”

“And I do not require a title from friends.  My name is Qui-Gon.” 

Thrawn offered him a genuine smile; Qui-Gon shook hands with the Chiss over Tholatin’s miserable excuse for tea.

 


End file.
